


Tumblr Works

by clawstoagunfight (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Bad Puns, Basketball, Books, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Scott McCall, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Clowns, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Danny Knows, Daycare, Derek Hale Has A Nice Day, Derek takes care of kids, Domestic, Dubious Consent, Engagement, Episode: s03e20 Echo House, F/M, Face-Sitting, First Dates, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hale Family Feels, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Lydia is a biker chick, M/M, Masturbation, Nogitsune Stiles, Oral Sex, Pack, Pack Bonding, Pets, Post-Episode: s04e02 117, Pre-Slash, Punk Stiles, Stilinski Family Feels, Stripper Allison, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Swimming, Swimming Pools, Tattoos, Underage Drinking, movie theater, rainy day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:30:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 22,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1466101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/clawstoagunfight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of all of my tumblr works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Stiles Worked His Way into Melissa’s Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Ratings for each work in the chapter summaries.
> 
> Un beta'd.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melissa first meets Stiles
> 
> Rated G

She sees him every day; he sits by his mother’s bedside, chair pulled up so close to the frame of the hospital bed that his knees are pressing into the hard form of it. She wonders if he goes home with red indents coloring his pale skin; wonders if he’s aware that he wants to feel pain because he can’t bear the thought of his mother suffering all alone. Some days he is reading to her—fairy tales, the real ones, because even though he’s young, he knows enough to see that the world does not end happily ever after, knows enough to get lost in the twisted tales of imagination; knows enough to feel the nostalgia already, because his mother used to read those same stories to him, but now her breath runs out, her voice starts to crack, and she just grows paler. Some days the scratching of graphite on paper—his hands racing across the pages of the notebook he always carries, to draw or write some stray thought—is louder than the beeping of the machines. Some days he grips her hand is his, tugging listlessly, “Mom, let’s go for a walk,” “Come play with me,” “No, please don’t fall asleep again”.

Some days he just sits there, knees pressing against the metal frame, watching her sleep. Those are the days Melissa worries. She knows that those are the days when it sinks in, hits home. Those are the days he sees his mother slowly dying, and he can’t bring himself to look away, even for a second, so scared and lost and lonely, because his father is working double shifts and sleeping away his days to afford the medical bills for his wife—she know, she met him once. One time when the boy is at school, his father stops by when she is sleeping. Melissa hears his weeping, his quiet agony, with her hand on the doorknob, patiently waiting for him to collect himself before she forces an over-bright smile onto her face and goes in to check the woman’s vitals. He pretends to be reading the case files set atop the small table, and she pretends not to see his swollen eyes and puffy nose.

She knows the woman will die soon; she’s seen this sickness work before, seen the way it sucks the life from their eyes and their skin and their bones. The boy is sitting there again, his hand grasping his mothers tightly. He doesn’t move. She is sleeping again.

“Her hands are cold.” He says to Melissa, “Can I bring her gloves?” He looks up at her, his large brown eyes too dark in his pale face. She is reminded of her own son, his eyes so different from this boy’s; the color is similar, but the difference is in the knowing look of lost innocence that speaks to her from this young boy’s soulful gaze.

She smiles at him, sadly, understandingly, resignedly. “I think she would like that.” This boy, so young, but he knows what’s coming next, knows that it will be soon. He looks back at his mother, to her hand. He pulls her hand further into his, placing his other hand on top, trying to warm up her cold immobile fingers with the flat of his small, small palms.

Melissa does something she’s never done before. She pulls up the extra chair and sits near the boy. She knows she can’t leave him, not today, not with such heavy thoughts and pleas resting just behind his eyelids. She knows that this boy will haunt her, knows that he must be about the same age as her own son. She decides that tomorrow she will bring her son Scott with her to the hospital and introduce the boys to each other. It makes her almost smile to think of the two boys playing together. “What’s your name?” the query is barely heard above the steady beep, beep, beep.

He looks over at her, aware for perhaps the first time that she is sitting next to him, that she is still in the room. His eyes are brimming with tears, but she watches him fight them back, brave beyond his years, stowing away his pain for his mother, hiding how terrified he is with a slow spreading grin. When he speaks it comes out with a small laugh, “I’d tell ya, but then I’d have to kill ya. ‘nd you’re pretty so I don’ wanna do that. My mama calls me Stiles.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sterek where Stiles is a fool in love and Derek finally catches on during a pack movie night."
> 
> Rated T

It happens during  _Hot Rod_  of all things. The pack’s over at Scott’s house, sitting on the couch or the floor, pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table, engrossed in Rod driving Dave to the hospital. They’ve seen this movie more times than they can count, know most of the scenes by heart, and it surprises no one that Stiles is quoting the movie along with the characters. He’s close to Derek, sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, resting against the small space between his legs and Isaac’s. Derek nudges Stiles with his knee, hoping to get the other man to notice he’s speaking out loud, but it only makes Stiles crane his neck back to look up at Derek. Stiles smiles—a small, fleeting thing—before he quotes more of the movie, saying the words along with Dave. “‘You look like a giant eagle with fire all around you, and you’ve got a mountain for a face.’”

Isaac chuckles from next to him, grabbing another handful of popcorn from the bowl in Scott’s lap, and Derek just rolls his eyes, settling a little further back against the arm of the couch. A hand is reaching out for his arm, long, slender fingers curling over his elbow, and Derek’s suddenly aware that he’d started to cross his arms. It’s a defense mechanism he hasn’t done in months and he focuses on relaxing his shoulders, letting his arms fall. Stiles doesn’t let go, just slides his hand down until he’s covering the back of Derek’s hand with his palm and giving it a small pat. “Sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to call you mountain face.” Derek raises his eyebrows a little bit and Stiles makes like he’s going to disagree with Derek’s face, but then thinks better of it. “I mean, okay, so yeah, I did. But it’s a compliment!”

Derek blinks slowly at him. “How the hell is being compared to a mountain a compliment?”

Stiles’ mouth opens and closes a couple times and then he’s shifting onto his side, leaning his torso against Derek’s leg and letting the hand still over Derek’s drop so his arm drapes across Derek’s thigh. “Well…you’re very…rock like?” Derek just stares at him. “No, really. Rocks are solid and firm. Your body is solid and firm.” Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. Stiles’ cheeks flush just a little, like he realizes how that sounds. “I mean. Rocks are foundations; they’re what things are built on. You’re kind of like that sometimes. You’re strong and you don’t break under pressure. Sometimes you’re kind of jagged and cold, yeah, but other times, you’re like this crazy beautiful thing that I see off in the distance and it reminds me that there’s more to the world, y’know?”

The tension Derek tried to get rid of just a few minutes ago is back. All he can do is look at Stiles, watch the other man’s Adam’s apple bob, see his face flush and hear his heart start to beat a little faster. He’s looking at Derek like a deer in headlights, like he’s afraid of Derek’s reaction. The movie keeps playing in the background, but the rest of the pack is watching them with varying expressions on their faces. Derek takes it all in for a moment before he looks back to Stiles. Derek opens his mouth slowly, weighs the words on his tongue before he says them, “Is that all?”

Stiles licks his lips, moves so that he’s facing Derek completely. He clears his throat and grabs Derek’s hand, twining their fingers together. Derek doesn’t pull his hand away and Stiles smirks—just a little twitch of the corner of his mouth. “I also kind of want to climb you like Everest.”

Derek can’t breathe for a moment, feels the weight of the eyes on him, the color blooming on his cheeks. He’s moving to stand before he realizes it, pulling Stiles with him unceremoniously by the hand, their fingers still laced. They barely make it into the kitchen before Derek stops and pulls Stiles the rest of the way in, ignoring his complaints about being manhandled and apologies for overstepping and making Derek uncomfortable—and then Derek kisses him. He leans back against the counter and brings Stiles closer, moves a hand to the back of his neck and deepens the kiss. Stiles doesn’t react for a long moment, and then he’s sinking into it, moving his hands to fist in Derek’s hair, biting at his lower lip and sighing into the other man’s mouth.

It isn’t until a little while later, when they hear a throat clear nearby, that they pull away from each other, grinning like fools. Scott’s standing there with an empty bowl of popcorn and a smile spread across his face. “‘I don’t want to say that kiss was hot, but if the boner police are here, I want a lawyer.’”

Derek just rolls his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark!Stiles/Scott (post 3x19)
> 
> Rated M
> 
> *dub-con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dubcon in this chapter

“Come on, Scott.” The words come from Stiles’ mouth but they don’t sound anything like him, too sickly sweet and crooning. “Don’t you want to fight back? Don’t you want to  _hurt_  me for hurting you, for what I’m doing to  _him_.” The nogitsune tilts its head. “He’s still aware, you know, inside of this skull. He’s a loud thinker. Want me to tell you what he’s thinking right now?”

The smile on Stiles’ face makes Scott feel sick. “Please, stop!”

The smile turns wider, into something twisted and ugly. “Why don’t you make me, Scott.”

The nogitsune stalks closer, the lethal looking knife in its hand a casual reminder to what the thing inside of Stiles’ skin is capable of. Scott knows better this time, though. He extends his claws, readying himself for an attack. He doesn’t want to hurt Stiles, especially not if he’s somehow still aware, trapped inside of his own body, but he knows the other man well enough to know what Stiles would want him to do. Stiles would want him to fight back, would want to stop him at whatever cost.

When the nogitsune swipes at Scott, he’s anticipating it, already moving out of the way and bringing his claws up, digging them into the soft flesh of Stiles’ stomach—not deep enough to kill, just enough to make the  _thing_  inside of Stiles stop.

It does, surprisingly, looking at Scott from mere inches away. Close like this, with shock registering on its face, it could be Stiles—but the eyes are dead and the smile comes back. The thing laughs, but it’s nothing at all like Stiles’ and it makes a chill run down Scott’s spine. “Do you really think a few claws are enough to stop me?” It asks, even as it presses closer, impaling itself further onto Scott’s sharp claws. The nogitsune’s eyes roll back into his head. “ _Yes_.” His hand reaches out and grabs Scott’s wrist so he can’t move it back. “Oh yes, that feels so nice. Thank you, Scott. You really do know how to get on a nogitsune’s good side.” He hums in approval and brings the knife up to Scott’s throat, pressing the tip into his skin enough that Scott stills his ministrations to free his hand from the iron grip.

He leans closer, until the lengths of their bodies are pressed together along their sides and the hand around Scott’s wrist is forcing his claws in deeper. It’s too warm and wet and it makes him feel dizzy, because that’s  _Stiles’_  blood soaking his skin, catching on the ridges of his fingertips when they press over something inside of him that feels silky-smooth, like an organ.

“Do you want to know the worst part, Scott? Stiles always imagined what having you inside of him would finally feel like.” Scott’s breath catches when he feels something hard and hot dig into the meat of his thigh. Scott knows even before he opens his eyes to look down, that it’s Stiles’ erection— _no, not Stiles_. This isn’t Stiles. The body against his starts to move, hips rutting against Scott’s thigh, making a whimper escape from Scott’s throat before he has a chance to quell it. A harsh breath ghosts across his ear and he closes his eyes, forces the sickness threatening to come up down. “To me, this feels just as good, but I’m not sure it’s what Stiles had in mind.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sterek promt: Stiles wants a tattoo but ofc he's afraid of needles. So he finds a tattoo artist that knows about werewolves, and convinces Derek to come with him to take the pain away while he gets inked."
> 
> Rated T

“Stiles, you  _hate_  needles. How do you, in any way, think that this is a good idea?”

Stiles turns to Derek, the door to the tattoo place on the other side of town halfway opened. Stiles nudges his hip against it to keep it in place. “Derek, I already told you. Deaton told me about this lady. Not only are her prices within my budget, but she knows about werewolves, so you can do your pain-sucky thing while I’m, you know,” Stiles makes a gesture with his hand, “getting inked,” he says the words with a grimace that Derek definitely judges him for, “and then I don’t pass out! It’s a win-win!”

Derek just stares at Stiles. “This is a terrible plan,” but he follows him into the shop nonetheless.

The artist meets them and she talks with Stiles for a few minutes, him pulling the folded piece of paper out his back pocket to give to her. It’s something he’s shown Derek before; a complicated fire flower that Stiles had commissioned. The one time Derek had asked why Stiles chose that particular symbol, Stiles had told him it was something that reminded him of his mother. It was a story she used to tell him; about this flower that bloomed so brightly that no one could look directly at it; how the seeker had to harvest the flower on the Eve of Kupala, exactly at midnight, and had to fight through the threat of evil spirits that tried their best to distract the seeker from the task. To possess the fire flower meant the ability to repel all evils. Stiles then laughed it off and said maybe it would stop him from being possessed again.

Stiles might’ve shrugged it off then, but Derek knew Stiles well enough to know that it was a very real fear. So when Stiles had posed the suggestion to Derek, about getting the tattoo and Derek coming with him, Derek understood, even if he still thought it was a stupid idea.

Eventually, the tattoo artist leads the two of them back into a room and Stiles situated himself on what looks like, for all intents and purposes, a dentist’s chair. Stiles rubs his probably sweaty palms over the denim of his thighs, quickly looking away from the woman when she starts to talk about the tattooing process and giving him care instructions. Stiles looks a little green when he finally lifts his shirt up, taking his arm out of one of the sleeves so it settles around his neck and exposes the naked line of his side to the artist. She goes through the motions of disinfecting the area—on Stiles’ side, over his ribs—before the artist gets the needle ready.

Derek can see sweat already starting to break out on Stiles’ forehead, above where he’s tightly closed his eyes, and shakes his head at the other man—his affinity for bad ideas never ceases to amaze—but Derek reaches out for Stiles wrist nonetheless.

It’s just a small touch, but it’s enough to let Stiles know that he’s there, that he doesn’t have to face his fear alone. Stiles lets out a small sound, like he was holding his breath, and Derek sweeps his thumb over Stiles’ pulse, feeling it jump when the first press of the needle touches his skin. Derek gets to work immediately, taking as much of Stiles’ discomfort as he can. He talks to Stiles, hoping the sound of his voice will distract Stiles from the incessant buzzing of the needle.

Eventually, Stiles pries his eyes open and looks to Derek. He’s still wincing occasionally from the needle, but Derek knows that Stiles isn’t full of fear like he would normally be, isn’t on the verge of throwing up or passing out. Stiles moves his hand then, twisting it, forcing Derek’s fingers to slide down from around his wrist and settle against his own, palm to palm. Stiles laces their fingers together, squeezing Derek’s hand gently in a silent thank you. Derek knows it’s a ‘thank you for coming’, ‘thank you for being here so I don’t have to be alone’, ‘thank you for not laughing at me while you take my pain and fear and anxiety because otherwise I would already be on the ground and this is important to me’, and a ‘thank you for knowing how much I need this’.

Derek just gives him a small squeeze back and doesn’t tell him that they still have another two hours to go before the tattoo is done.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles/Scott sex against a wall
> 
> Rated E

“Fuck, Stiles.” Scott whimpers against Stiles’ neck, burying his face further into the warm skin, wrapping his arms tighter around Stiles’ neck, lifting his legs higher onto Stiles’ hips. Stiles just makes a sound in his throat like he knows—like he could possibly know just what he does to Scott—and then he’s running his hands down Scott’s back, until they cup the other man’s ass and he uses the leverage to fuck harder into Scott’s tight heat. Scott lets out a cry that almost sounds like Stiles’ name, but then he loses his breath, because Stiles is pressing Scott’s back harder against the wall, hoisting him further up so that Scott can sink down at a better angle, gravity making him take every inch of Stiles’ hard cock. Stiles adjust his grip, one hand going under Scott’s thigh, spreading him wider, a hand moving to finger at Scott’s hole where Stiles is fucking into him.

Scott lets out a sharp gasp, throwing his head back, “Stiles, please. Please, please. H-harder.”

Stiles’ ragged breath ghosts down the side of Scott’s neck. “Yeah,” Stiles pants, his voice husky and rough, “Yeah, I’ll take care of you, Scotty. Just—let me take care of you.”

And then Stiles’ hips are moving faster, one hand moving to Scott’s thigh, fingertips digging bruises that form and fade on Scott’s skin. The other hand strays from Scott’s asshole, moving around to slip between where their bodies are pressed together, roughly fisting Scott’s leaking erection, giving it a few sharp tugs that seem to tear sounds from Scott’s throat. He closes his eyes for a moment, too lost in the sensations, but then Stiles’ mouth is sealing over the skin of his throat, licking, sucking, biting at the skin, scraping his tongue and his teeth over the spot until Scott can feel it bruise. The ache is sweet; mirrors the one he feels in his groin, in his ass. It’s so good. It’s everything Scott’s wanted—to be filled, surrounded, taken, claimed.

When he finally comes, Stiles still holding him up against the wall and finishing inside of him, Scott thinks that it’s perfect.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sterek. Bottom!Derek + facesitting
> 
> Rated E

“Just tap out of you need to breathe,” Derek tells Stiles, situating himself above Stiles, legs spread and bracketing the sides of Stiles’ head as he lowers his ass onto the other man’s face. He feels Stiles’ soft, warm exhale on his sensitive skin and it makes Derek shiver before Stiles swipes his tongue out to lick over Derek’s exposed hole. Derek sucks in a breath at the same time that Stiles moans against his skin, moving the tip of his tongue over the ridges of his puckered skin, doing small kitten licks that drive Derek crazy, making him move his hips, rutting against Stiles’ face. Stiles gets the hint and brings his hands up to grasp Derek’ thighs, tonguing him in earnest, pressing his mouth further into the crack of Derek’s ass.

Derek’s cupping himself with one hand, his thick fingers lifting his balls up and out of the way as he leans forward, setting the other hand down over Stiles’ chest for leverage. The angle is better, lets Stiles’ tongue work a little further in, until Derek can feel Stiles breath out through his nose, tickling the delicate hairs above his hole. Stiles moves his hands from Derek’s thighs around until they settle on Derek’s ass cheeks, pulling them further apart so that he can fuck his tongue in deeper. Derek lets out a sound—more whimper than moan—and rocks down onto Stiles’ face, wanting—needing more. Stiles gives it to him, fucks his tongue in as deep as he can get it, flicking it inside of him, getting Derek wet, opening him up, tasting every inch of him.

Derek can’t help but roll his balls around on his hand, letting him drop against Stiles’ chin so he can stroke his cock. He pants out Stiles’ name, tightening his grip when Stiles moans against his ass, the vibrations feeling like nothing Derek’s ever felt before. Derek almost misses it, so caught up in the feel of his rough palm working over his cock, of the slick wetness pressing into his hole, when suddenly Stiles is pressing a finger in alongside his tongue. Derek lets out a shaky moan when Stiles crooks the finger, ghosting over his prostate where it’s just a little too far in for Stiles’ tongue to reach, nothing more than a teasing touch that rips a whimper from Derek’s throat.

Derek twitches against his hand, precome practically dripping from his tip. He can’t stop the moans from spilling from his mouth, almost loud enough to drown out the sounds of Stiles’ eating him out. He’s close—so close—moving his hand faster over his cock, twisting, rubbing his thumb against the slit at his head. It’s not until Stiles works in a second finger—the spit’s not sufficient enough lube to take away the slight burn of the stretch, but Derek loves it anyway—and presses his fingertips, firm and steady, against Derek’s prostate that he comes, shooting all over the expanse of Stiles’ naked chest.

Stiles doesn’t stop licking at Derek until Derek has to physically lift himself off on shaky limbs, too over-stimulated and not trusting himself anymore not to suffocate Stiles. Stiles’ face is a little red when Derek lays down next to him, his lips puffy and spit slicked. “You didn’t tap out.” Derek means for it to sound like an accusation, but instead, the words sound a little awed.

Stiles just leans his head a little closer to Derek, his dark eyes and mischievous. “Yeah.” Stiles agrees, “Good thing you didn’t last long.”

Stiles doesn’t even bother to hold back a laugh at how offended Derek looks. Derek narrows his eyes. “Just for that, I’m not gonna give you a blowjob. You can jack off in the shower.”

The laughter dies on Stiles’ lips. Derek smirks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "how about derek going to book store and buying a ton of (awesome) books bc his therapist says he needs to let himself have nice things?"
> 
> Rated G

Derek’s walking around the used book store in a fog. He can’t remember the last time he went to a bookstore—a real, honest to god store that specialized in only selling books, instead of a store that just happened to have a couple books for sale—and he feels a little overwhelmed by the smell of them all. It used to be one of his favorite scents and he’s forgotten how much he likes it—the earthy, musky scent of the paper, slightly dusty—the smell that always seems to make his nose tingle with nostalgia and make sense memories come to the surface of a time when he was happier, when his mother would buy him a new book for good behavior.

It’s the same thing he’s doing now, really—rewarding himself, giving himself something he’s deprived himself of for so long. He’s forgotten what it’s like to lose himself in the words on the pages, to immerse himself in the world between the covers, feeling the edges of the page dig into his skin when he hastily flips from one to another. He’s forgotten what it’s like to have something solid under his hand.

He turns down another isle, scanning over the countless shelves, looking for the right book to jump out at him. He always did prefer to shop in used book stores if he could. It was so much easier for him to pick out the best books if they’ve been read before. He always looks for the books with the cracked spines, with the dog-eared pages—for the books that look well-loved, read by their previous owner again and again. He didn’t even mind the ones with handwriting in the margins, because if people like the words enough to add their own dialogue, then it was probably something worth reading in the first place.

He’s got a couple books in his hands already—some classics that he remembers having read once or twice before he lost his family’s collection in the fire—and he’s thinking about just giving up and getting the couple he’s already found, when a book on the top shelf in the next section catches his eye. It’s a book of poems, a thick hardcover collection; the spine is broken in a couple places when he opens it and there are loose sections that threaten to fall out onto the floor. Derek’ quickly sets his other books on a nearby shelf and takes to leafing through the volume.

It’s a writer that he can remember his mom reading when he was a kid. She would spend hours leafing through her poetry books, sitting in front of the large fireplace at their house. He remembers she used to read to Cora when she was a baby. Sometimes he would sit up with her in the rocking chair in the nursery, falling asleep (even though he was probably too big to be sitting on his mother’s lap) to the sound of his mother’s voice, to the cadence of the words, to the way the love she had for the words on the pages came through in way she formed the words, soothing him.

He can’t not get the volume, he knows. He keep leafing through it, noting the highlighted passages and the various blue and black ink stains from someone’s smeared commentary. He’s halfway through the book, having found a couple poems that looked familiar to him, when the end of one sonnet catches his eye. He reads the poem—once, twice—until his chest starts to feel a little tight and he just  _knows_  this book is meant to be his.

He hastily picks up the couple forgotten books he left on the nearby shelf and heads to register, holding all of the books—the two, plus the collection of poems—to his chest protectively. He doesn’t say much as the cashier rings him out, doesn’t even acknowledge her attempt at small talk over one of the novelists.

As he makes his way out of the book store—the fresh air clearing the musky scent of books from his nose, clearing his head—the last words of the sonnet are stuck in his head and he’s not sure he ever wants them to leave.

_“When through the old oak forest I am gone, / Let me not wander in a barren dream, / But when I am consumed in the fire, / Give me new Phoenix wings to fly at my desire.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem referenced can be found [here](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173747)!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stiles and Derek accidentally meeting at the cinema, both of them thinking they’re seeing the movie on their own."
> 
> Rated G

Late Sunday night is, Stiles has discovered, the best time to go to the movies. No one ever goes to a nine o’clock show on Sunday—no one besides him usually, that is. Normally, he’s the only one in the theater, able to sit in the back, put his feet up, laugh as loud as he wants to, all without having to get stared at or asked to quiet down by other people. Before, it always used to be him and Scott, but lately Stiles has gotten used to going to shows alone and watching the movie by himself.

Which is why he’s more than a little disappointed to walk into the theater, a bucket of popcorn and an extra-large soda in his hands, to see someone else already sitting in the very back row. He grumbles a little, but it doesn’t carry over the commercials already playing on the large screen. He heads up to the back row anyway, making sure to sit on the opposite side of the theater from the other person—it looks like a guy, but Stiles can’t really tell in this lighting. He makes it to the last row and is just about to sit down then the other person—definitely a guy—makes a sound and throws a dirty look Stiles’ way.

And Stiles—Stiles just freezes, lets the seat spring back up to close, because Derek-freaking-Hale is sitting down the row in the same movie theater as him, staring back at him in shock even as he continues to scowl a little bit. Stiles doesn’t know what to do. He gets the seat back down and sits, nodding in Derek’s direction. “Hey, Derek. I didn’t know you went to the movies.”

Derek throws him an unimpressed look. “I’m a werewolf, Stiles, not Amish.”

Stiles purses his lips and nods. “That—that you are.” They sit in an awkward silence for a while, both of them pretending to watch the commercials like they haven’t seen them all already. “Do you want some popcorn?”

Stiles holds out is oversized bucket when Derek glances over at him. He watches the hesitation flash on Derek’s face before he narrows his eyes a little. “It smells like you put a pound of butter on it.”

Stiles snort, “Well, yeah! The only way to eat movie theater popcorn is with extra butter. Do you want some or not?”

Derek grunts out something that sounds like “fine” and then Stiles is getting up from his seat, grabbing his drink, and moving down the row to sit two seats away from Derek. He places the bucket of popcorn in the closed seat between them.

The previews start and they both munch on the popcorn with their eyes on the screen. There’s a particularly riveting trailer and Stiles is unaware he’s actually mumbling the commentary running though his head until Derek says, “Stiles,” really exasperated and Stiles feels himself flush a little.

The movie starts—it’s some action movie that came out a couple weeks ago and is supposed to be pretty decent. Stiles had wanted Scott to go see it with him, but he’d been busy with family and pack stuff—which Stiles completely understood, even if it did kind of suck because he was starting to miss his best friend.

The movie manages to do a decent job of keeping his attention. At one point, he’s so focused on watching the action sequence on the screen that he’s not paying attention to anything else, reaching blindly into the popcorn bucket beside him for more of the popped kernels—when his fingertips brush against something warm and solid.

Stiles snaps his eyes to see what he’s touched, even as he pulls his hand away with a small yelp. Derek’s hand is still perched on the bucket and he’s looking over at Stiles with wide eyes. He quickly drops the popcorn in his hand, “Sorry. Sorry, go ahead.”

Stiles clears his throat, grabs his drink to take a sip. “No, it’s cool, man. I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.”

“Stiles, it’s your popcorn.”

“Yeah, but you were trying to get some first, so go ahead.”

“Stiles,” Derek grits out, and Stiles isn’t sure what he did this time to warrant Derek’s growl-y voice, “just eat your popcorn.”

“No, really,” Stiles says back, trying his best to be placating, “I insist. You haven’t had nearly as much as me. I mean, who even knows if you actually  _eat_  anything on the regular anyway, because your loft doesn’t exactly have a working stove or a microwave and there’s only so much you can cook with just a toaster and a Bunsen burner—”

But then Stiles is being cut off by a hand shoving some popcorn into his open mouth. Derek presses his palm to Stiles’ mouth, keeping the popcorn in, leaving Stiles with the option to either chew or choke, so he chews, looking at Derek with wide eyes.

And Derek—Derek is leaning across the chair between them with a smirk on his face. It’s only after Stiles swallows his mouthful under Derek’s hand, that he removes it from Stiles’ mouth, using it to reach into the bucket for some popcorn for himself, looking back to the movie. Stiles is aware that he’s probably staring, but he doesn’t know what to say or how to feel—because that was kind of rude and Stiles was just trying to be  _nice_ , but he can also feel the ghost of Derek’s hand on his lips and it felt really warm against his skin.

Derek looks away from the screen just long enough grab more popcorn and quietly say, “Watch the movie, Stiles.”

Stiles nods, but it isn’t until Derek throws a piece of popcorn at him with a small laugh, hitting him in the forehead and breaking his reverie that Stiles blinks away from Derek. He grabs a handful of popcorn, throwing a piece back at Derek, smiles when Derek makes a grunt of protest, and then looks back to the screen to watch the rest of the movie.


	9. what gets you through the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott/Stiles future fic + a puppy
> 
> Rated G

“Why did you have to leave?” Scott mumbles into the phone.

He hears Stiles’ sigh through the speaker. “It’s only one night, Scott. I’m sure a big, bad alpha like yourself can handle being home alone for one night.”

Scott looks around the empty house, the silence feeling unnatural without Stiles there to fill it with idle chatter. It’s the first time in the six months that they’ve been living together that Stiles hasn’t spent the night there. Scott understands; Stiles’ job is just as important as his, but that doesn’t make him miss Stiles any less. And he knows Stiles doesn’t mean anything by his bringing up the fact that Scott’s the alpha, but Scott can’t help but wonder if part of why he feels so lonely is because this is the first time in longer than he can remember that he’s been without someone from his pack. “It’s not the same without you here,” he finally admits.

Stiles sighs again, but this time it sounds like a fond thing, like maybe he’s shaking his head and grinning, and Scott can suddenly picture it, bringing with it a wave of longing an affection. “You’re a dork. I’ll be home in the morning.” There’s a moment of silence. “Hey, Scott?”

Scott’s walking toward their bedroom, but he stops just in the threshold. “Yeah?”

“I miss you, too, you know.”

And that’s really all it takes to get Scott through the night.

~

It’s two days later when Scott breaches the subject over dinner. He ordered take-out from Stiles’ favorite place across town, bought the good beer. Stiles is happily shoving food into his mouth and Scott can’t help but smile when Stiles looks up at him and says, “Dude, I love you. Have I mentioned that lately? Because, seriously, you are amazing. What did I do to deserve you?”

Scott rolls his eyes, but preens a little anyway, feeling a wave of affection for the other man, even if he does have a bit of noodle stuck to his chin. “Dork,” he mutters, leaning across the table to shove a napkin at Stiles’ face, hoping he takes the hint. “So, I was thinking…”

Stiles freezes with the napkin pressed to his mouth. He narrows his eyes, “Oh, no.”

“Shut up,” Scott can’t help but huff a little, sinking down into his seat. “I was thinking that…maybe we could think about—um—adding to our household?”

There’s an extended silence while Stiles just looks at him, wide-eyed. “Scotty. Scott, buddy, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I’ve told you before that I’m not going to have your babies. My boyish hips would never recover.”

Scott throws his head back in irritation. “Stiles, I’m  _serious_.” He stands up from the table, walking over to the French doors to look out into the big back yard. “I know it’s not the same for you, since you’re still human and you don’t feel things the same way I do, you don’t have the same instincts, but I don’t want to spend another night here alone—”

Scott lifts up his hand, turning around, already anticipating Stiles’ response. “I  _know_  you have a job, Stiles. That’s not what I’m saying. I know you sometimes will have to leave and that you postponed your trips as long as you could—and I completely understand that, really. I’m just saying that maybe we should think about getting an animal, okay?”

Stiles blinks at him from where he’s still seated. “You want—You want to get an  _animal_?”

Scott shrugs, trying to pretend like it’s not a big deal, like this isn’t something he’s actually been thinking about for a while now and the other night just kind of cemented the thought in his head. “I dunno. Yeah, I guess. I was thinking maybe like a puppy or something.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open a little bit. “You want to get a puppy?”

“I want  _us_  to get a puppy,” he clarifies.

“Oh my god!” Stiles surprises Scott by jumping up from his seat and rounding the table toward him. He’s even more surprised when Stiles throws his arms around Scott’s neck and presses a loud, smacking kiss to Scott’s lips. “I want us to get a puppy, to!. Jesus, I love you.”

“Call me Scott.”

~

It’s three weeks later when Scott sees the puppy. He’s on one of his weekly rounds to the animal shelters in the area, making sure the prospective pets are all healthy.

She’s a mess of light brown and white fur all bundled up into energetic yipping and floppy ears and big eyes that steal Scott’s heart. He takes her home without a second thought.

It’s not until Stiles gets home from work and the puppy runs toward Stiles when he walks into their house that Scott thinks maybe he should have called Stiles first. Maybe this should’ve been something they talked about and chose together—but then Stiles just kind of stands there while the puppy jumps up toward his knees, yipping at him with her tail wagging—and Scott knows as soon as he sees Stiles smile and bend down to pick her up that he’s made the right decision.

“You got a puppy!” Stiles all but shouts, stuffing his face into the dog’s fur.

Scott rolls his eyes, stepping closer to scratch gently at the top of the puppy’s head. “I got  _us_  a puppy. She’s an Australian Shepard.”

“She?” Stiles asks, finally lifting his face from where he was cuddling the animal.

There’s a grin on Stiles’ face that Scott can’t help but match. “Yeah. She. Think we should keep her?”

Stiles frowns and twists away, pulling the puppy closer to his chest. “Don’t you dare try to pry this precious animal from my arms, Scott McCall. Alpha or no, you will lose this battle.”

Scott lets out a snort and then laughs in earnest at Stiles’ affronted expression. “So, are you gonna give her a name, or what?”

Stiles thinks about it for about a second before he holds the puppy out Lion King style. “Buttercup!”

Scott just grins, waiting until Stiles goes back to holding the puppy to his chest before he walks over and wraps his arms around the man he loves and the new addition to their little family. “As you wish.”

~


	10. we’ve held our breath for far too long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Scott work on moving on after Allison's death together
> 
> Rated T

It starts with something small—Scott’s fingertips brushing over Lydia’s when he grips her hand, whispering words barely heard over the panic rising inside of her—until he’s the only thing that seems to calm her down and clear her head. She trusts him to do the right thing and it’s been a long time since she’s trusted anyone.

 It starts with looks and glances, with him having her back and coming to find her when she needs him to. It starts with him never giving up, doing what he can at all costs to help people, to protect them. It starts with her being glad he’s on her side.

It starts with a friendship—with two people coming together to save the ones around them that mean the most to them. The looks get deeper; they get to know each other better. They start to be able to read the other person, to talk with just looks and let the silence speak for them. He starts to check up on her and she on him—their friendship develops, strengthens.

But then the unthinkable happens and it makes everything stop.

Scott’s the only person she’s told about being able to sense Allison’s death, of feeling it, of hearing the whispers when Allison finally faced death in the only way she knew how—with a quiet strength that Lydia still hates herself for being jealous of.

Lydia’s the first person he talks to about how he still loves her—how there’s a part of him that always will—and about what it felt like to look her in the eyes for the last time and watch her finally fade. He tells her that he still feels her in his arms, sometimes.

Together, they mourn the loss of someone who meant more to them than words could say. Neither says it, but they think each other are the only ones who can truly understand what it’s like for them—how the pain makes it hard to sleep, hard to smile like they used to, hard to pretend around everyone else that there isn’t a monumental piece of them missing, that the absence of her laugh and her strength doesn’t cling to them like a second skin.

Scott starts coming over some nights when his mom is working and Stiles isn’t around, spending time with Lydia so that she doesn’t have to be alone, so that they can be alone together. They don’t always talk—most of their time spent together is them ignoring the things cutting them up on the inside. They don’t talk about how their lives have managed to turn completely upside down in the span of a year or how they’re both always terrified that someone they love will be next.

Lydia’s the only one who understands why Scott has to cut things off with Kira before they even have a chance to start. She gets that he can’t handle letting someone else in, only to lose them. She understands—felt a small portion of that with Jackson. She doesn’t say anything when he tells her how he just can’t do it, how he needs more time to figure out what’s best for him, how he can’t think of anyone replacing the hole Allison left in his life. She just nods and rests her head on his shoulder as he wraps an arm around her.

Scott’s the only one she talks to about the whispers, about how she can pretty much always hear them now, a buzz in her head that drives her crazy, that makes it hard to sleep and focus—that makes her want to scream. Eventually, he starts to help her. He suggests she finds an anchor—so she does. It seems to work for her and she starts to sleep better, feel more in control of her mind and her body. He asks what her anchor is and she says Allison. He breaks down then, for the first time with her, and she finds herself doing the same. They finally let out all of the pain and the guilt and the sorrow that’s been building up inside of them. They wrap their arms around each other in some semblance of a hug and end up staying that way until Lydia falls asleep.

Things starts to change. They stop spending all of their time alone together and start meeting up different places. They go bowling and it only hurts a little bit to remember being there with Allison and Jackson. They go to the movies, sometimes even inviting other people—Stiles, Malia, even Kira. It’s easier than either of them thought it would be to fall back into the habit of life, of no longer dwelling on things that can’t be changed.

They start to smile more and Scott even laughs again—the sound makes Lydia’s stomach flip, because if anyone deserves to be happy again, it’s Scott. His fingers find hers and he laces them together, giving her hand a small squeeze. It reassures her that she’s not alone—not really, not like she used to be, not like she thought she always would be without Allison—and she squeezes back.

He takes her for a ride on his motorcycle one day, driving on deserted roads for what feels like hours before he finally pulls off the road. They climb a bit until they get to a little outlook over the ocean. It’s cooler here, with the breeze from the sea, and Lydia takes a deep breath, listens to the sounds of the waves lapping against the sand, to the caw of the birds flying.

The anticipation from the drive has left her feeling a little shaky as she walks to the edge of the overlook. She feels like there’s something inside of her pulling her in a million different directions. She doesn’t know what to say, how to put what she’s feeling into words, so she just looks out at the ocean—so immense, seemingly unending, capable of such destruction that it should scare her, but it doesn’t.

The sun starts to bleed over the horizon—stark oranges and reds—until the sky and the sea create a kaleidoscope of colors that make her feel dizzy with it all. Scott comes up to stand next to her and they watch it together.

He leans against her shoulder and the warmth of him settles some of the confusing feelings inside of her. She feels bigger than she ever has, but smaller all at once. She feels like she’s on the cusp of something she doesn’t completely understand—like if she blinks too long, she’ll miss this moment and won’t be able to look back on it and remember. She’s reminded all at once of how much there is to the world, of how their lives are a part of something greater, how everything flows and connects, even when she can’t make sense of it all. She’s reminded of currents and beacons and nemetons that tether everything together.

As she looks out on the horizon, basking in what little is left of the sun, she finally starts to understand why Scott brought her here. She turns to look at him, his face aglow in the fading array of colors, to find him looking back at her. They smile at each other and he lifts his arm so she can settle herself at his side. She’s reminded of what it feels like to belong.

It should be strange—to welcome the night like this, with Scott’s arm around her—when the darkness used to hold nothing but nightmares for them both. It should be strange to turn her head up toward him and press her lips to his when he looks down at her. It should be strange to watch such a beautiful day come to an end, but she knows that tomorrow, the sun will bring with it the start of something new and wonderful.


	11. L’origine nascosta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles, Derek, and a rainy day.
> 
> Rated G

Stiles’ fingers trace up over the ridges of Derek’s spine where he’s lying beside him, Derek’s head cradled over his chest, pressing his ear against the skin above Stiles’ heart. The room is quiet except for the sound of rain pattering against the roof. There’s a dim, overcast haze seeping in through the windows, making Stiles’ eyes feel even more tired than they already are. A draft ghosting across the room makes Stiles shiver a little bit and he tries to pull the blanket at their feet up without dislodging Derek, wanting to be warmer so he can drift off to sleep beside the other man.

Derek makes a small sound when Stiles moves and nuzzles his cheek against Stiles’ chest. “Stop moving.”

Stiles can barely hear his muttered words over the sound of the rain, but he lets out a short huff.  “‘M cold.”

Derek cracks an eye open and Stiles goes for it, reaching down to retrieve the blanket before he pulls it up over both of them. It doesn’t seem to matter that Stiles is already wearing sweatpants or that there’s a werewolf half-draped over his body, their bare torsos pressing against each other’s, Derek’s arm a warm, heavy weight over his stomach, because he’s still feeling a bit of a chill.

Derek makes a wounded sound and blinks sleepily at Stiles when the other man settles back with the blanket. “I was comfy.”

It’s a weak protest and Derek closes his eyes once more when Stiles’ fingers go back to smoothing over his back, outlining the dips and curves, the way skin plays over muscle. “Sorry.” Stiles whispers the words, turning his face toward Derek’s to press his lips lightly against Derek’s forehead. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘S okay,” Derek breathes the words, snuggling a little closer, “Want you to be comfy, too.”

Stiles feels the smile stretch over his lips and he moves the hand on Derek’s back up to run through his hair, tugging him gently until he lifts his head, eyes still closed, so Stiles can kiss him. Derek hums happily, a sound low in his throat, before he opens his eyes, more green than hazel in the dim, rainy light. “What was that for?” Derek looks from Stiles’ eyes to his mouth before he leans back in to return the kiss. Stiles brings his other hand up to cradle the side of his neck.

The kiss stays gentle and barely deepens before they pull away, Stiles’ thumb tracing over Derek’s jaw; Derek turns in toward the touch. Stiles shrugs as much as he can—more just a jerk of his shoulder than anything else. “You’re just pretty amazing sometimes, you know? And I wanted to kiss you. I like kissing you.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth draws up in a smile. “I like kissing you, too, Stiles.” Derek moves forward to press one last kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth before he’s settling back so he’s half-lying on top of Stiles again. “Now try to get some sleep. I know you’re tired.”

Stiles settles back against the pillows and pulls the blanket until it’s draped over Derek’s back and covering most of his own torso. He keeps a hand in Derek’s hair, combing his fingers through the strands. His hair’s longer now, though just as soft and inky black as always. Some strands fall over Derek’s forehead and Stiles pushes them back with his other hand so that he can better see Derek’s face.

He looks so relaxed like this, lying next to Stiles in the bed they share most nights, the sound of the wind and rain lulling him to sleep, wrapped up in blankets with his head pillowed on Stiles’ chest. Stiles scratches gently at Derek’s scalp and the other man moves in to the touch like it’s an unconscious gesture.

Stiles looks at him for a little while longer, gets lost in him, isn’t even aware his fingers have stopped moving until Derek lets out a puff of warm breath against Stiles’ skin, blinking his eyes open up at him.

Derek turns his head so he can press a kiss to Stiles’ clavicle. “Sleep.” Derek voice sounds a little sleep-rough already. He looks so tired, still blinking periodically at him, looking at him with unfocused eyes.

Stiles feels bad that he’s keeping him up, but he can’t help it. “Can’t.”

Derek frowns, moving a little to press his lips to the underside of Stiles’ chin. “Why not?”

Stiles worries at his bottom lip with his teeth, running his fingers down to massage at the nape of Derek’s neck while he wraps the other over Derek’s back, so that it’s more of a hug than Derek just resting sort-of on top of him. “Jus’ thinking.”

Derek hums. “‘Bout what?”

“‘Bout you.” Stiles says with all the sincerity he’s feeling.

Derek lets out a little laugh, his teeth gleaming for a moment in the darkening room before he settles back, bringing the hand over Stiles’ stomach up so he can smooth his thumb over Stiles’ cheek. “What about me?”

Stiles bites his lip again, watches Derek’s eyes track the movement before he’s pulling Derek in by the grip on his neck, closing what little distance there is between them once more so he can peck at Derek’s lips—once, twice—before he’s sighing shakily into the space between their mouths.

Derek frowns again, cradling Stiles’ face with his hand, palm warm and dry, a steady pressure that helps Stiles to steal his nerves. “C’mon, Stiles.” Derek rubs the tip of his nose against Stiles’ in some semblance of an eskimo kiss. “Talk to me.”

Stiles looks at Derek for a long moment, brown eyes locked to hazel—everything else around them filtering down to just Derek, to the earnest expression on his face and the warm weight of his body atop Stiles’, to the way his thumb strokes lightly over his cheek. Everything around Stiles is Derek. Stiles knows with a sudden sense of determination and clarity that this, right now, right here, is what he wants to have forever.

Stiles’ voice is low, quiet, barely heard over the pitter-patter of the rain outside when he whispers, “Marry me.”

Derek freezes for a moment, but then it’s as if he melts against Stiles, his body suddenly feeling so much warmer, so much more solid against Stiles’. A slow smile spreads across Derek’s face as he moves until their mouths are connecting again. This kiss is sweeter, more a press of their smiles against each other’s than anything else, but to Stiles it feels perfect.

“Yes,” Derek’s whispering, over and over, between kisses pressed to lips, to a jaw, to throats and fingers and elbows and anywhere else he can think to reach.

It’s a while later, the light outside all but gone, the rain a steady soundtrack that accompanies their sighs and moans and ‘I love you’s, that both of them manage to drift off to sleep, their arms wrapped tightly around each other like it’s the only place either of them truly belong.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "HOW ABOUT "OH FUCK. OH FUCK" FOR MAHEALAHEY?"
> 
> Rated T

Isaac doesn’t know how it happened. One minute, he was in the locker room at school well after everyone else had left practice for the night, and the next, he’s wolfing out and pinning Danny up against a locker.

“Oh fuck. Oh  _fuck_!” He steps away, finally gaining control of himself, but it’s already too late. Danny knows. Isaac fucked up and now Danny knows. He really doesn’t think that Danny will buy that his eyes glowing yellow was just a trick of the light. And fangs?—how is he supposed to explain the fangs or the weird thing that happens to his face in a way that makes and kind of logical sense?

“Oh my god, Danny. Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” There’s a good chance Isaac may be panicking—but, c’mon, he did just accidentally out himself and the biggest secret there could ever be. He takes a deep breath—and he doesn’t smell blood, so at least he didn’t completely lose control and do something even stupider, like claw or bite the other man. He realizes that he’s still pinning Danny up against the locker, so he steps back, hastily, almost tripping over the bench behind him.

Danny’s staring at him, his eyes a little wide and his hands raised up in a surrender gesture. “Look, Danny. What you just saw, I can—” Isaac swallows hard, “I can explain—”

“I know.” Danny cuts him off.

“You know.” Isaac repeats dumbly, watching as the other man rolls his eyes and drops his hands.

“Yeah, I know.” He lifts his hands into makeshift claws. “Werewolves and all that. I came to warn you about the wolfsbane someone put in the vents, but I guess I was a little too late. You didn’t seem to get that much, though, so at least that’s good.”

“You—What?—But—How?” Isaac is aware he’s gaping like a fish, but he feels like his entire word has been tilted on its axis. “Does Scott know you know?”

Danny lets out an exasperated sigh. “Who do you think sent me?”

“Well, what the fuck!” Isaac says, shaking his head at the new information. “Were either of you ever going to tell me that you knew?”

Danny straightens and takes a step closer to him. Isaac doesn’t know why it suddenly feels like he’s the prey and Danny is the predator, but he finds himself taking a step back nonetheless. “Well, I was hoping  _you_ would tell me, actually.”

“Why?” Isaac asks, the word sounding a little breathless.

Danny flashes his dimples at Isaac and says, “Honesty is the best foundation for a relationship,” before he walks out, leaving Isaac in the locker room staring after him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You don't have to stay. Stydia."
> 
> Rated T

After the fight with the hunters is finally over (until the next time, Stiles supposes), Lydia offers to drive him home. It’s after Stiles realizes that somehow all of them had made it out alive and relatively unscathed. Derek had taken Malia home and Scott had driven off with Kira on the back of his motorcycle. Stiles’ nose is bleeding a little bit and there’s blood on his shirt. He tries his best to keep the blood off of Lydia’s impeccable interior.

He’s not really surprised when she follows him into his house, into his room. It feels like second nature to have her as a kind of echo. It’s late. His dad is asleep down the hall. His room is dark and stilly until he turns on the lamp by his desk, making his way over to sit down on the edge of the bed and grab a tissue. He tilts his head forward and pinches his nose to staunch the last of the sluggishly dripping blood.

Lydia’s standing by the desk, her silhouette illuminated by the back glow. She’s looking down at one of the books open on the surface, reading the passage in the book that Stiles had spent days translating, only to have a couple sentences done for his efforts. She makes a face and turns the page. He notices for the first time that her hair is messy and her lip gloss has long since worn off. She looks tired. He pulls the somewhat bloody tissue away from his face and throws it away. Lydia continues to read and Stiles shifts.

“You don’t have to stay,” he tells hers, breaking her concentration. She looks up at him like she’s breaking from a trace. Her eyes are a little wide and she looks frayed around the edges.

“I know.” She shrugs, moving so that she’s leaning up against the edge of the desk. “I just…no one’s at my house. So, better here than there.” She looks around the room, like she’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but Stiles can see through her facade. He can see the bags under her eyes and the way her lips have been twisting into too many frowns.

Stiles sighs and moves to pat the spot next to him. “Lydia, it’s okay if you don’t want to be alone after what just happened.” She makes a sound, like a scoff, but nevertheless walks the few paces to sit down next to him. He’s not surprised when her head immediately falls to rest on his shoulder, and he moves his arm to wrap around her back. “I don’t want to be alone, either.”

Lydia lets out a long breath and he feels her relax against her. “Is it okay if I stay for a little while, then?”

He rubs his thumb over the top of her arm in soothing circles. “You can stay for as long as you need to.”

Lydia looks up at him and gives him a fleeting smile before she scrunches her nose up a little bit. “Your nose is bleeding again.”

Stiles sighs and grabs another tissue.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Punk AU. Sterek
> 
> Rated T

Derek is standing with his back up against the stage, his arms crossed in from of him, when he sees him. Derek can tell just from the look of this kid that he’s going to be trouble.

The guy has on a t-shirt of some band that broke up in the 70s (Derek only knows because his sister Laura gave him an extensive history lesson on the Punk movement when he became a security guard at this dinky underground club), cargo shorts, and skater shoes, with most of his hair trimmed down to a buzz except for the bright blue dyed spikes sticking up from atop his head. There’s two studs in the kid’s lip that catch in the light when he laughs at something the guy next to him—his friend?—says. The kid’s friend’s mop of dyed green hair falls into his face when he leans over toward the other man whisper-shouting something else that Derek can’t hear over the voices of the crowd working themselves up waiting for the opener to come out. Spiked-hair guy nods enthusiastically before he’s suddenly lifting himself up to sit on the metal barrier.

Derek rolls his eyes. How stupid could someone get? He walks the few feet over to the barrier and taps the kid, who is already back to talking with his friend, on the shoulder. It’s really not his fault if he pokes him a little harder than necessary. The guy flails his arms and tries to turn around, but he starts to lose his balance, so Derek reaches out a hand to steady him. The guy grabs onto Derek’s arm before he looks up at him. Derek can’t help but appreciate the flush that starts on the guy’s face when he realizes how close he is to Derek, or that the fingers of his hand and digging into Derek’s forearm, or even the way the man’s honey-brown eyes are practically glowing in the club lights.

“You can’t sit on the barrier. If I catch you again, I’ll have to escort you out.” Derek doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, but it’s a rule that the club takes seriously. Safety is their number one priority.

The guy swallows hard enough that Derek can see his Adam’s apple bob. “Right. Uh, sorry, dude. Won’t happen again.”

Derek moves away and the first band comes out moments later. It’s not until a couple bands later that Derek notices the kid again. He’s covered in sweat, his t-shirt clinging to his skin, his features illuminated under the swirl of lights from the stage. Derek doesn’t think about it, just grabs one of the waters the security has to have on hand and twists off the cap before he steps up to where the guy is on the other side, handing over the water. The guy takes it from him, like he’s not sure what to make of the offer, throwing Derek a grateful nod, biting his lip in a way that makes his piercings stand out. He gulps down half of the water, the long line of his throat exposed and catching under the light, before he hands the rest of it to his friend. He bites his lip again, then flicks his tongue out to lick over his lips. Derek’s eyes track the movement, watching the way his lips go shiny, a little puffy—and he can imagine those lips in another situation, under completely different circumstances. The lips turn up at the side and Derek snaps his gaze up to meet the kid’s eyes. Derek knows that he’s been caught looking, but can’t really bring himself to care.

When the kid comes up to him after the show and pulls him off to the side to ask him if he wants to get out of there, Derek doesn’t hesitate to say yes. It’s during the night, between the round of blowjobs, shower sex, and falling asleep together, that Derek learns his name is Stiles.

He thinks, as he’s making them both breakfast in the morning and Stiles keeps peppering small kisses on the nape of his neck and the backs of his shoulders, that yeah, he was right. This kid is definitely going to be trouble.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the parents. Scerek.
> 
> Rated G

Derek’s fidgeting at the table next to Scott, rubbing his sweaty palms up and down over his denim-clad thighs. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. It’s not like he hasn’t ever met Melissa before; not like he hasn’t known her for a couple years now. It’s just dinner, he tells himself, just the first dinner as an official couple with Scott. He’s sitting in the McCall’s kitchen with an impressive spread of food in front of him, wondering how on earth he’s going to manage to choke down even a bite of it all, when Melissa speaks.

“So, Derek,” She tilts her head a bit to the side and narrows her eyes in a way that immediately makes Derek feel even more uncomfortable. “You’re dating my son now.” Derek nods, because yes, yes he is. He is very much dating her son. Scott is very much his boyfriend. He and Scott are totally an item. Jesus, does anyone actually say that anymore? Melissa and Scott are both staring at him and Derek flushes, realizing belatedly that he’d been mumbling all of that out loud. He mumbles an apology, even as he feels a blush start to creep down his neck, color the tips of his ears. Melissa clears her throat. “As I was saying, you’re dating my son. I feel it’s my motherly duty to ask you a few questions.”

“Mom,” Scott all but groans from beside Derek, “C’mon, the food will get cold if you interrogate him.” Melissa opens her mouth, but Scott cuts her off. “And  _don’t_  give him a thinly veiled threat about how you could use all the extensive medical supplies at your disposal to kill him and keep him on ice at the morgue, because, a) he’s a werewolf, and as badass as you are, Derek could totally take you, and b) I would just sniff him out. It wouldn’t be the first time and you know it.”

Derek sits there in silence, gaping over at where is crossing her arms over her chest and doing something with her face that looks like remarkably like a pout. Derek isn’t normally one to be afraid of humans unless they are hunters, but in that moment, he is more than a little terrified of Melissa and the way she looks _disappointed_  that she couldn’t be the one to say all of that to Derek. Derek swallows hard and feels his heartbeat pick up, wondering what he’s doing here—what he’s  _really_  doing here. He feels in over his head and his chest starts to feel a little tight. But then Scott is reaching down under the table to grab Derek’s hand, wrapping his strong, warm fingers around where Derek’s have started to shake a little bit.

“Okay, just one question—”

“Mom!” Scott throws his head back in exasperation, but his grip on Derek’s hand doesn’t loosen.

“Just one,” Melissa glares at her son, “and then we can eat.” Scott huffs, but it’s in obvious defeat. She turns her gaze back to Derek. He’s preparing himself for the worst possible scenario happening right now—for Melissa to ask him why he even bothers, because Scott is too good for him, because Scott deserves better, because Scott is just humoring him and doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. He feels himself tense before she even opens her mouth.

“Do you love him?” There’s steal in her voice, but instead of the menace he expected, there’s a softness that catches him off guard.

Scott drops his hand in favor of running his hands over his face. “Oh my god, mom! We’ve only been dating for two months! You can’t just  _ask_  him—”

“Yes,” Derek says simply, reaching up to grab Scott’s hand where he’s set it on the table. He laces their fingers together and gives Scott’s fingers a small squeeze. “Yes, I love him very, very much.”

He hears Scott’s heartbeat pick up and looks over to the other man. Scott’s staring at him with wide eyes, a wide smile slowly stretching over his lips. “Are you serious? Holy shit, Derek!”

“Language,” Melissa says without heat.

Scott flinches for a moment before his smile gets even wider. “Holy crap, Derek!” Then Scott surprises Derek by wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck and leaning over to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you, too,” he mumbles, a hair’s breadth away from Derek’s mouth. “So much. You have no idea.”

Derek hears Melissa clear her throat and both boys blush, pulling away from one another. “Now that we’ve taken care of that, let’s eat!”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia x Malia + a biker gang
> 
> Rated T

She’s got on a leather jacket and knee high leather boots that shine under the shitty fluorescents when she walks in. Her long, red hair is fans out behind her as she walks over to the bar, a few other people that are obviously there with her—people in copious amounts of leather with tattoos and piercings—following behind her. She sits at the bar and glares at the person sitting at the stool next to her until it’s obvious that the man is uncomfortable. He gets up and leaves, one of the redhead’s friends immediately snagging the vacant seat.

Malia’s never seen this group in the bar before—and she knows she would remember them. She’s got a thing for faces. She’s sure if she saw the redhead before, she would remember. She’s the only one manning the bar tonight, so she walks over to the newcomers, wiping down a wet glass with a towel before she sets the glass down and slings the towel over her shoulder. “What can I get you?”

Red looks up at her and her piercing green eyes catch Malia off guard. “Gin and tonic, sweetheart.”

Malia looks at her for a long moment before she nods, getting the drink orders of the rest of the men and women. She gives them all their assorted drafts and liquors, taking the money they give her, before she sets Red’s down in front of her. Red extends her hand, glossy pink lips shining under the lights of the bar when she speaks. “How much?”

Malia shrugs and turns away a little so that the woman can’t see her face. “It’s on the house.”

Malia barely hears the sound she makes over the jukebox and the sound of the crowd. She looks back over and Red is looking at her with the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well, well. That was very nice of you…” She trails off and tilts her hear like she’s waiting for a response.

Malia leans closer, so that she doesn’t have to yell so much over the sound. “Malia.”

When she moves away, Red is smiling at her. “Malia. Thanks for the drink. I’m Lydia.”

Lydia doesn’t offer her hand and neither does Malia. They just look each other over for a second. “So, Lydia, you all just passing through, or are you staying for the night?” She shoves her hands in her back pockets, hoping that the question came out just as blasé as it sounded in her mind, but by the way Lydia’s tossing her fiery locks over her hair and giving Malia a serious once over, she thinks maybe she failed.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I could always be persuaded to stay. Given the right reason.”

Malia grins at her. “Free booze?”

Lydia lifts her glass at Malia as if in a toast. “Works for me.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medieval AU. Stackson.
> 
> Rated T

“Lord Stilinski, Lord Whittemore and his party have arrived.”

Lord Stilinski waves the words away, not turning from where he’d been staring out of the castle window. “Yes, yes, I saw his obnoxious banners all the way from the bridge. Always the eyesore, those Whittemores.” He turns back to his page and narrows his eyes at the grin the other man is trying his best to smother. “That goes no further than my chambers of course, Lahey.”

“Oh, of course, your lordship.”

They share a smile before Lord Stilinski sighs and moves away from the window. “Well, let’s get disaster over with, shall we? The sooner I welcome them, the sooner they can ask me for whatever it is they came here to get and then leave me in peace.” He heads to the Great Hall with his page a few paces behind him. When he walks into the room, the lord and his bannermen have already broken into the wine barrels and had the good cheeses delivered from the kitchens. “Lord Whittemore,” Lord Stilinski yells over the ruckus, “Making yourself at home as always, I see.”

Lord Whittemore stands from where he’d been sitting at the head of the table, “Lord Stilinski. I’d say I’m excited for your council, but I fear your conversation will infect my brain before the night is out.”

The words are said with a sneer, biting, but Lord Stilinski just laughs. “Ah, Lord Whittemore. How I do desire we be better strangers. How fairs your father? Still sending his incompetent son off to do his bidding?”

“And how is your father, Lord Stilinski, still two-thirds in the cup?”

Lord Stilinski shurgs, “Be that as it may, at least I’m capable of standing in for my father.” The other lord opens his mouth to say something, but Lord Stilinski cuts him off. “Come, now, Lord Whittemore. Allow me to show you to your chambers. Surely you must be ready to retire after so long a trip.”

Lord Stilinski knows it would be improper for the other lord to refuse, so Lord Whittemore stands, albeit grudgingly, and follows the other out of the Great Hall.

They walk in silence to the other end of the castle. Lord Stilinski opens the door to the chambers where the visiting lord will be staying and follows him inside. It’s only when the door is securely shut behind him that Lord Stilinski grins and throws his arms around the other man’s neck, sealing their mouths together in a kiss that leaves them both breathless. “Was it a horribly long trip?”

Lord Whittemore makes a noncommittal sound and licks at Lord Stilinski’s neck. “It was made better knowing I would be able to see you.” He brings his lips back to the other lords and they lose themselves in each other for a few moments. “How much time before your calling boy comes to fetch you?” he asks between kisses.

Lord Stilinski shrugs and presses the other against the wall at his back, grinning widely. “Time enough.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dallison stripper AU.
> 
> Rated M

The strip club is too bright, too loud, too crowded. Derek isn’t even sure why he allowed himself to be dragged here, even if it was under the guise of his best friend Boyd’s bachelor party. How unoriginal was a bunch of guys going to a strip club, anyway? It wasn’t even like they would all get much out of it. Stiles and Isaac would probably just immediately sneak off to the bathrooms to have sex with each other, Lydia would cut off Scott’s balls if he so much as looked at another girl, and Boyd was 100% in love with his very soon-to-be wife. Derek was the only single one, the only one able to really let loose and enjoy himself tonight, but places like this weren’t really his scene.

They all manage to get one of those extra-large booths in the VIP section with strippers performing nearby. Derek can’t help but appreciate the multitude of nice bodies while he tries not to think about just how long it’s been since he’s actually gotten laid—something that Boyd ends up bringing up when he notices an attractive brunette in a neon pink bra and a matching thong who keeps looking over at Derek through the flash of the lights as she dances on the pole, giving him quick, dimpled smiles that he tries to pretend don’t affect him.

He’s completely not looking over at her when she finishes her dance, walking across the stages and down into the VIP section, making her way over toward their party. He totally doesn’t watch the way her body moves or the way she carries herself—strong, a little dangerous—so very Derek’s type. She stops in front of him and bends down. “How about a dance?”

Her voice is like honey; sweet, dripping with something more primal. He knows what she’s asking, so he just pulls out his wallet, hands her a large bill. She smiles at him, even as Boyd and Scott catcall at him and tease him about how he’s purposefully looking only into her eyes. They are really pretty eyes. He doesn’t even notice when the other men get up to go get drinks and leave Derek alone with her, because her thighs are bracketing his and she’s settling close to him, the warmth from her mostly-naked body seeping into him. She starts moving, and maybe it should be awkward, because they don’t know each other and she’s pressing intimate parts of herself up against intimate parts of her, but he’s still looking at her face, watching her as the colored lights play over her features. She leans down, twines her arms around his neck, whispers into his ear, “I get off at one.”

She pulls away, just enough to bring her face close to his—and he knows he shouldn’t, knows there are probably bouncers here to stop this very thing from happening—but he presses his lips to hers. She laughs into the kiss, the sound high and sweet, before she kisses him back. The kiss tastes like a promise.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanny/babysitter/childcare AU. Sterek.
> 
> Rated G.

There’s a knock on the door and Derek throws his head back in defeat, picking up the screaming toddler from the floor and setting her on his hip. She settles down immediately, just like she always does when Derek gives in and gives her the attention she wants. He tries to keep his seething about how her parents really need to stop spoiling her with attention on the inside as he walks to his from door and pulls it open.

On the other side of the door is a man with messy brown hair, holding a little boy with darker skin and hair. The little girl in Derek’s arms starts to squirm, but he knows if he sets her down, she will just start crying again, so he cocks his hip and raises an eyebrow at the man on his doorstep, bouncing the little girl on his side. “Can I help you?”

The man pats the boy in his arms on the butt, “Um. Are you Derek Hale?” Derek nods and the man seems to relax a little bit. “My brother called yesterday about you watching his son? He said I’d be by today to drop him off…”

Derek narrows his eyes. “What was your brother’s name?”

The man blinks honey-colored eyes at him before he smiles. “Scott. Scott Yukimura. This is his son, Noah.” The man grins and tickles at the boy’s sides. Derek hears Noah’s giggles and makes a valiant effort not to melt a little at the way the man is with his nephew.

Derek hears a thump from behind him and suddenly becomes aware that he’s got three more children inside of the house that he should really be watching right now. He clears his throat and steps back, gesturing with his free arm for the man to come inside. “Sorry. Please, come in…” he trails off, hoping the man takes his cue to answers his unasked question.

“Stiles.” The man offers with a tilt of his head, stepping inside.

“Stiles,” Derek can’t help but repeat the name, rolling it over on his tongue. The little girl starts to wiggle with intent and this time Derek sets her down. She immediately crawls away toward where a slightly older girl is playing. “Is there any reason why Scott isn’t dropping Noah off himself?”

Stiles’ face twists into a grimace. “His wife is pregnant with their second and she’s sick, so he’s staying home to take care of her. I was babysitting anyway, so I offered to drop Noah off on my way to work. No big deal. You can call him if you don’t believe me. Or call the sheriff. He’s my father.” Stiles makes a face. “Actually, scratch that. Don’t call my dad. Call Scott’s mom. She’ll vouch for me.”

Derek reaches out for Noah and raises another eyebrow. “I believe you. But the fact that you feel the need to be vetted is worrisome.”

Stiles laughs and hands over Noah with a few coos and a little bit of baby talk. He hands over the diaper bag next. “I’ll be back to pick him up at four, if that’s okay? I’m not sure what time you and Scott agreed on.”

Derek shrugs, looking down at Noah and smiling at the curious hands reaching up to grab at his mouth. Derek fake-bites at his fingers and he giggles. “Four is fine.”

“Good,” Stiles says, voice a little too loud. “Well, I’ll just—uh, be going, then.” But instead of leaving, Stiles steps closer, bringing his hand up to tickle once more at Noah’s sides. “Bye, little buddy! I’ll see you later!”

Derek can’t hold back the grin this time—and when Stiles looks up and their eyes meet, Derek secretly hopes Stiles will be the one bringing Noah by more often.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Scott play basketball.
> 
> Rated G

One of the good things about the school year being over is that Scott is free to practice basketball whenever he wants to. Basketball season may be over, but that’s no reason not to practice when he can. And besides, it’s fun.

Scott heads over to the courts on the other side of town with his basketball, dribbling it every so often as he goes. It’s a long walk, but the sun is shining and there’s a light breeze. He expects to find the courts empty when he gets there—most people don’t frequent them, since there are much better courts at the high school—hoops that actually still have netting and lines that aren’t faded to the point that they are hard to see with the naked eye—but there’s someone else playing.

It’s the team’s point guard, Derek Hale. Derek Hale, who is currently sweaty and shirtless and who Scott may or may not have been harboring a massive crush on for most of the school year. Scott couldn’t help it; it had been his first year on the varsity team and Derek had kind of taken him under his wing for most of the season. Not only was he stupidly attractive and talented, but he was also one of the nicest guys in the school.

Scott dribbles his ball as he walks over. Derek jumps up to shoot a basket and scores, before he turns around. “Scott!” Derek smiles widely, a bead of sweat running down his forehead.

“Hey,” Scott says back, returning a smile. “I didn’t know you play here.”

Derek shrugs and the light catches a drop of sweat rolling down over his torso. “You mentioned that you like to shoot here, so I thought I’d come check it out.” He reaches his hands out and Scott passes his ball to him. Derek dribbles it a little as Scott moves up the court, before he passes it back to Scott and he shoots for a basket.

They play the longest game of H-O-R-S-E known to man, throwing lighthearted insults at each other when one of them misses, until both of them are sweaty and exhausted and the sky is starting to darken. They call it a tie and end the game. Derek retrieves his things, taking a long drink from his water bottle before he offers some of it to Scott. Scott wraps his lips around it greedily, letting the cool liquid sooth his parched throat.

“Thanks, man.” Scott tells him, passing the bottle back before he lifts up the hem of his shirt to wipe away the cooling sweat on his face. When he puts his shirt back down, Derek is looking at him with an expression Scott can’t read.

He clears his throat. “No problem, Scott. Hey, do you want a lift home? It’s getting pretty late.”

Scott nods and follows Derek to his car. He throws his ball in back before he climbs in to Derek’s car—a slightly beat up American-made something or another.

Derek’s driven him home from practice before, so Scott doesn’t need to tell him the way. They’re halfway there when Scott speaks. “Hey, so what did you think of the courts? Did you like them?”

He looks over in time to see Derek nod. “Yeah. Yeah, they were nice. I get why you like to play there.”

 “Yeah, it’s a good place.” Scott bites his lip, “So would you maybe want to meet up there with me again sometime?” He sees Derek’s fingers tense around the steering wheel and backtracks. “I mean, so we can stay in shape this summer? You know how coach gets about his athletes being out of shape.” Scott tries to let out a laugh, but it comes out a little strangled.

Derek is silent for a long moment, eyes intent on the road. “Scott…”

Scott looks away, slumping a little into the seat. “I’m sorry, Derek. It was stupid. Forget I asked. You probably have better things to do than hang out with me.”

“No, I—” Scott looks over to see Derek shaking his head, throwing a glance at him. “Scott, the only reason I went to those courts today is because I was hoping to run into you.”

Scott’s mouth falls a little open and he doesn’t even think before he asks, “Why?”

Derek rolls his eyes and reaches out without taking his eyes off the road to punch Scott playfully on the shoulder. “Because I want to spend time with you, idiot.”

“Oh,” Scott says, wincing a little as he reaches up to sooth the sore spot on his shoulder. His brain feels a little sluggish and when Derek’s words finally sink in, he looks over at the other man with wide eyes. “Ohhh!”

Derek throws him a soft smile, “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“Well, you could’ve said something!” Scott says indignantly.

Derek levels him with a long look. “What, do you think I make it a habit of flirting with every guy on the basketball team? Because it’s really just you.”

Scott feels a dopey smile pull at his lips and he reaches out to pat Derek on the arm. “Aww, Derek, I like you, too.”

Derek rolls his eyes again, but there’s a blush on his cheeks when he says, “Good.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Derek really needs some alpha dick and he doesn't know how to tell Scott. So instead of saying anything, he just goes into Scott's room and gets himself ready..."
> 
> Rated E.

Derek isn’t sure why he’s here, sneaking into Scott’s bedroom while the alpha is out somewhere with Stiles and Kira. It’s stupid, maybe the stupidest thing he’s ever done, but he can’t help himself. He sits on Scott’s bed and presses his face into Scott’s pillow, breathing in the thick scent of Scott—of alpha.

He’s been steadily growing harder since he walked into the room and being surrounded by Scott’s scent is doing things to him; things that make it hard to think about anything else but the escalating need he feels to have Scott pin him down and fuck him senseless, the need to just finally have Scott’s cock inside of him, the need he’s been feeling for a while now.

Derek’s not even aware that he’s worrying at Scott’s pillow with his teeth and rutting against the mattress until he realizes that it’s not enough. He needs more. He lifts himself onto his knees, reaching around into his back pocket to pull out his wallet and the little packet of lube he keeps in there. He doesn’t waste any time before he’s undoing his pants and shoving them and his underwear down to his thighs, exposing his ass and hard cock to the air. He tears open the packet of lube with his teeth and puts some on his fingers, reaching behind himself to circle his hole. He sets his shoulder against the mattress and grasps at his cock with his free hand.

He presses a finger inside at the same time that he strokes over his cock and breathes in Scott’s scent. He moans, loudly, and knows he probably won’t last long. His mind starts to run away from him. Scott’s scent is all around him, and as he pushes a second finger in, he can almost imagine that Scott is there, that he’s watching Derek work himself open, or maybe even that his fingers are Scott’s fingers, or maybe Scott’s dick. He closes his eyes and adds a third finger, enjoying the stretch as he presses in deeper, harder. Like this, he can imagine that maybe Scott’s fucking him, maybe he’s the one tearing all of the whimpers and moans from Derek’s throat.

He’s close, so close, and when he tightens his grip on his cock and presses his thumb hard against the slit, he comes into his hand, calling out Scott’s name, his ass clenching down around the fingers buried inside of him as he rides it out. He comes so hard that his heart beats so loudly it almost sounds like there’s an echo to it.

He sags against the bed, making sure to move his come-covered hand so he doesn’t get Scott’s bedspread messy. His eyes are still closed and he’s panting loudly. He’s surprised when the heartbeat he hears flips over, and his eyes snap open, because that was definitely not his heartbeat, which means—

Scott is there, standing in the doorway to his bedroom, his eyes locked on Derek. His nostrils are flared. Derek flushes, shame at being caught warring with the embarrassment at what Scott can probably smell and see.

Derek knows how bad this looks—his pants are still resting on his thighs, his ass is sticky from the lube, and his hand is covered in come. There’s no way Scott won’t know what he’s been up to. But then another thought hits him, and he remembers the echo of the heartbeat he heard when he came, and he flushes further.

“How long—” Derek’s voice breaks, “How long have you been there?”

Scott takes a cautious step inside the room and closes the door behind him. “Long enough. I heard moaning and thought maybe you were hurt. But then…” Scott clears his throat and tracks his eyes down Derek’s body. “You definitely weren’t hurt.”

“Shit,” Derek says, reaching down to pull up his pants one-handed, “I-I didn’t—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Derek doesn’t know when Scott got so close, but the other man’s hand on his shoulder makes him pause and look up at him.

Scott extends his other hand down and reaches for Derek’s come-covered hand. “No, you shouldn’t have. …But I’m glad you did. I think next time you fuck yourself on my bed, though, it should be my cock you use, instead of your fingers.” Scott blindsides Derek by bringing Derek’s dirty hand up to his face. He starts to lick at the come there. He sucks a finger into his mouth and Derek feels his cock stir again in interest. Scott lets it go with a loud pop. “Sound good?”

All Derek can do is nod, because nothing sounds better.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sciles + "Where the fuck did that clown come from?"
> 
> Rated T.

In hindsight, it’s probably not the best idea for Scott and Stiles to be tramping through the abandoned fairgrounds in the middle of the night looking for a rogue Omega. Scott picked up the scent on the edge of town and the two of them followed it there, hoping to find it quickly before it did something stupid like kill someone. But now the two of them are a little lost inside of an old fun house, and the scent of the Omega has gone stale.

Scott sighs, stopping beside a hall of mirrors that have the moonlight playing garishly off of them. “I don’t think it’s here. I can’t smell it anymore.”

Stiles whorls back toward him, the flashlight in his hand practically blinding Scott. “What do you mean? It can’t just disappear, Scotty.”

Scott rolls his eyes, even though it’s probably lost on Stiles by the fact that Stiles isn’t looking at him and got distracted by his reflection in one of the fun mirrors. “It probably went out one of the hidden exits somewhere. I don’t know, but it’s definitely not here anymore.”

Stiles makes a sound like a harrumph and swings his flashlight around to look further down the funhouse. “Dude, do you remember when we used to go to fairs like this all the time?”

Scott catches up with Stiles and they make their way slowly through the creepy, dark fun house. “You mean all those times you used to make me go on those stupid rides and I would always end up having an asthma attack by the end of the day?” He gives Stiles a long look out of the corner of his eyes, “Yeah, I remember.”

The other man laughs a little. “Ah, those were good times.”

They make it out of the hall of distorted mirrors and into a room where the floor slants dangerously to one side. Stiles stumbles a little and Scott reaches out to help steady him. The floor moves a little under them, like at one time it used to tilt from side to side, but now is nothing more than a hazard. Scott gets a whiff of fresh air and knows they must be close to the exit. He pushes Stiles a little ahead of him. “We’re almost out. Exit should be just ahead.”

Stiles nods and steps forward, off of the tilted floor and through an archway into the last section. It’s a long tube that Scott thinks used to rotate while people tried to walk through it, but now it’s stationary.

Stiles walks through first, waving the flashlight from side to side like he’s looking for signs of the Omega, even though Scott’s sure it’s long gone by now. Stiles is a few steps ahead of him and pulls the last door open, stepping through and disappearing on the other side. “Hey buddy, I’m just going to— _AHHHH_!”

Scott feels his heartbeat quicken as a rush of adrenaline floods through him. He rushes the rest of the way out of the tube, over to where Stiles is, and for one terrible moment Scott thinks that maybe he was wrong, maybe the Omega has been waiting for them outside this entire time and Scott will be too late, that maybe by the time he makes it out, Stiles will be dead.

Instead of the carnage Scott expect to see when he finally makes it out, Stiles is on the ground, flailing up at him and pointing an accusatory finger somewhere to Scott’s left. “Jesus Christ, where the  _fuck_  did that clown come from? That’s just cruel and unusual.” Stiles looks up at Scott with big, dark, imploring eyes. “Who would do something like that? Think of the children, Scotty, think of the children.”

Scott rolls his eyes again, even as a grin breaks out across his face. He reaches down for Stiles and helps him up, pulling him into a hug. “It’s okay, Stiles. I won’t let the evil clown get you.” Scott tries to keep the laughter out of his voice, because he knows just how terrified Stiles is of clowns, but he also knows that he’s probably failed.

Stiles huffs against Scott’s shoulder a moment before her buries his face into Scott’s neck, sagging a little against him. “It’s not funny.”

Scott sobers a little. “I know. I’m sorry, but I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Promise?” Stiles mumbles, tightening his arms around Scott’s waist.

Scott runs a hand up and down Stiles’ back, pulling him just a little closer. “I promise.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This isn't exactly what I had in mind" + skittles
> 
> Rated M/E

“You know, Scott, when I said I wanted to spend some quality time with you, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.” Stiles sighs heavily, grabbing the massive tub of popcorn from atop the movie theater counter, while trying to balance his soda and Scott’s candy. Scott reaches out to help Stiles carry something, but Stiles just grumbles, heading toward the theater that the movie they’re her to see is playing in.

The movie’s been out for a few weeks and it’s a late night in the middle of the week, but Stiles is still surprised to see that no one else is in the theater. Stiles makes a beeline for the very back row and plops down heavily into his seat, a few kernels of popcorn falling to the floor. Scott sits down beside him and looks at him with dark, puppy eyes. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I thought that was a hint that you wanted to go on a date, since we haven’t been on one in a while. And I know you wanted to see this movie when it came out.”

Stiles sighs again and hands Scott his skittles. “I know, Scott. It’s actually sweet of you to go through all the trouble of planning this date. I was just thinking of the specific kind of quality time where your hand is on my dick, that’s all.”

Scott frowns and looks down at Stiles’ lap like Stiles’ dick is somehow responsible for why this date essentially sucks. It’s not like Stiles’ dick is what made Scott late to pick Stiles up and the reason why they missed their reservation at the restaurant so neither of them got to eat any real food before they got here. Stiles grabs a handful of popcorn and stuff it into his mouth, hoping he’s making a point to Scott somehow.

The trailers start before long and the two of them sit in silence, each munching on their snacks. Before long, the lights dim and the movie starts. Stiles starts to feel full, so he sets the half-empty bucket of popcorn on the floor by his feet.

The feel of Scott’s hand on his thigh partway into the movie doesn’t surprise him—Scott’s always been a tactile person. What does surprise him, though, is when Scott slowly starts to move his hand up over the material. Stiles glances at him, but Scott’s face shows nothing, his eyes still locked to the screen. Stiles eyes go back to the movie and for a moment he thinks that’s it, because Scott’s hand has stopped its steady ascent.

But then his hand starts to move again, sliding just a little higher, the warmth of his palm spreading into Stiles’ skin under the denim. It keeps moving until suddenly, Scott’s fingers are slipping over the growing bulge in Stiles’ pants, and the heel of his palm presses firmly against him.

Stiles gasps as the pressure and sees Scott look over at him out of the corner of his eye, but he keeps his eyes firmly on the screen, even though he’s no longer paying it any attention. Scott turns back to the screen, but Stiles feels his hand working at the button and fly of Stiles’ pants.

The first touch of Scott’s warm, soft hand against his cock makes him bite his lip to keep from letting out a moan. Scott tightens his hand and starts to move it up and down, his thumb sweeping over the head of Stiles’ cock on the upstroke, using the precome to ease the friction. It feels good, feels like everything Stiles has been wanting and like only Scott’s hand can. Scott keeps jerking him, slowly speeding up his movements, until Stiles is making little sounds in his throat, biting his lip hard enough that he can taste the faint tang of blood.

Scott’s hand dips down to play with his balls and Stiles lets out a shuddering breath. He reaches his own hand over and sets it on Scott’s knee, squeezing hard, hoping that’s enough to let know that it’s good, that he’s close. Scott’s hand pauses for a moment, before he works it back up, fisting it even tighter on Stiles’ cock, working it hard and fast, just the way Scott knows Stiles likes it.

Stiles comes with a whimper, trying his best to stay silent for fear that a theater employee might walk in and see. Scott pulls his hand out and wipes it on one of Stiles’ shirts. Stiles doesn’t even care that someone definitely might notice the stain when they walk out of here; he’s too busy reaching out for Scott and pulling him into a kiss.

Scott tastes sweet, like the candy he’s been eating, and Stiles hums against his mouth. “Now that,” Stiles says when he pulls back, “that is  _exactly_  what I had in mind.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malira - "Don't make it into a big deal"
> 
> Rated T.

Kira doesn’t know what she was expecting when Malia invited her over for a girl’s night. Maybe she was expecting it to be like a slumber party where they would gossip about boys and watch corny romcoms and eat junk food until they felt sick. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Malia’s idea of “hanging out” involved training and running around in the woods for half the night.

At the end of the night (or early in the day, depending on how they looked at it) when they decided to finally go to sleep, after each of them had showered away the dirt and leaves and sweat, Kira’s really not expecting for Malia to be a generous host and offer up her bed.

“No,” Kira says, yawning a little, “don’t be stupid. It’s your bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Malia crosses her arms over her chest. “No, really. I spent half my life sleeping on a cave floor; carpeting is a luxury.”

Kira rolls her eyes and grabs Malia by the arm, pulling her over toward the big bed. “Okay, so we’ll just share it.” Kira sits down on the edge of the bed and looks up at Malia. She’s biting her lip and looks a little uncomfortable. “Oh god,” Kira says, standing up and flushing, grabbing the spare blanket and pillow from the end of the bed so she can make her bed on the floor. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s totally cool if you need your space. I get it. Sometimes things just come out of my mouth without thinking—”

Malia puts a hand on her shoulder, “No, it’s not that at all. I’ve actually found that contact with another person helps to settle the coyote. It’s just that…I’ve never shared a bed before. But…I trust you, so I’m sure it will be fine. Come on.” She guides Kira back to the bed and the two of them settle in.

Well, Kira settles in. Malia, on the other hand, proceeds to strip off all of her clothes. Kira watches her in the lamp light, her throat going a little dry. “Malia—w-what?”

Malia lifts the covers and climbs onto the bed. “Don’t make it into a big deal, okay? I just hate sleeping in clothes. It feels unnatural.” She looks over at Kira, like she’s just realized something. “Should I have asked if you were okay with it first…?”

Kira swallows loudly. “N-no. I mean, yeah, maybe. But it’s okay. It’s fine.”

Malia turns out the light and Kira focuses on willing herself to sleep instead of thinking about the naked body next to her. She feels Malia shift on the bed, and then an arm settles on her stomach and a warm, naked skin presses along her side. She opens her eyes looks down at where Malia’s head is resting on her shoulder. He eyes are adjusted enough to the dark that she sees when Malia looks back at her. “Sorry. Is this okay? The contact helps, especially since the coyote is a little nervous about sharing a bed.”

Kira wills herself to relax and wraps her arm around Malia’s back, stroking her thumb along her side. “No, it’s totally okay. I get it.” She lets out a loud yawn that Malia echoes. “Now let’s get some sleep.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What really happened between Stiles and Malia in Echo House.
> 
> Rated E

Stiles isn’t sure how this happened—how he’s in the basement of Eichen House, kissing a shirtless, beautiful girl. Malia’s lips are soft, her skin a little cool to the touch when he kisses his way down over her neck, over the swell of her breasts, stopping a little to look at them framed in her bra.

“Can I?” he asks, pulling back just a little bit.

Malia nods, wordlessly moving so that Stiles can slip his slightly trembling fingers around her back. It takes him four times to get the clasps undone, but then he pulls the article away, watches her nipples pert up a little. It’s not the first time he’s seen breasts, not even the first time he’s seen hers (and how could he forget the peek he saw of her in the shower?), but it’s the first time he’s seen a pair of breasts up close. He dips his head down and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently at it before he swirls it around on his tongue. Malia makes a sound from above and he sucks harder. He moves to the other nipple, leaving the previous hard and a little swollen, giving it the same treatment.

Stiles is straddling her with a leg between hers, his body draped over hers, and she starts to move against him, her hips coming up to rub against Stiles’ thigh. He can hear her breathing get a little louder, feel the way her hips move against him.

“Stiles,” he pulls away from her breasts to see her bite her lip, reaching a hand out to run it down his back. “Stiles, I—” She looks at him like she doesn’t know what she was about to say, instead rocking her hips harder into him, using the hand on his back as leverage to pull him closer.

He moans when his cock presses against her hip and lets out a shaky breath. “Malia…” She looks at him, her eyes a little unfocused, and he moves back to kiss her once again.

She moans against his mouth and he pulls away. “Malia, can I try something? I promise I’ll try my best to make you feel good.”

He presses his lips to the column of her throat and feels her swallow hard. “W-what do you have in mind?”

He pulls back, leveling a mischievous grin at her before he’s moving down her body, setting himself between her legs, kissing at her navel, over her stomach, the curve of a hipbone, pressing small kisses to the skin above the waist of her pants. He slips his fingers under the waistband and pulls gently, giving her time to say no, but she simply lifts her hips to accommodate him.

He pulls off her sweatpants and underwear before he settles once again between her legs. She shivers a little and he moves his hands to run them up and down her spread thighs to try and warm her. Stiles looks up over the line of her body at her as he moves his mouth closer to the mound of dark curls at the apex of her legs. “Is this okay?” he asks, his breath warm over her, and she shivers again.

She nods, clears her throat, “Yes.” She brings a hand down to fist it into his hair and guides him toward her sex.

At first he licks at her hesitantly, a little awkwardly, since this is the first time he’s ever done this for another person, but then Malia lets out a shaky sigh. She doesn’t push him away, so he keeps licking, working the lips of her cunt apart, swiping his tongue through the taste of her where she’s hot and wet. He closes his eyes for a moment and thinks to himself that he could get used to this. Her taste is intoxicating. Malia makes a desperate sound, like a whimper, and he opens his eyes again as he moves up, running his tongue along her labia until he finds it.

Malia’s legs tighten around him and she lets out loud sound that sounds something like his name. He hums against her, glad he’s invested so many hours of his life into watching porn, before he licks at her again, this time a little harder. The hand she has in his hair tightens and she presses his face a little more against her. Stiles takes the hint, circling his tongue around the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex, before he wraps his lips around the nub and sucks on it.

Malia becomes a livewire, her body bowing back, hips thrusting up against his face. He feels her fingers tighten almost painfully in his hair and the nails from her other hand dig into the meat of his shoulder. She moans, a high, needy sound that Stiles feels in his cock. He shifts, just a little, just enough so he can rut against the couch under him.

He sucks harder, until her body starts to shake, then eases off, alternating between licking and sucking at her clit and moving down to lap at where she’s wet, to taste her on his tongue. It’s only a little while before her moans are turning into gasps and her body won’t keep still. Stiles wonders if she’s close, so he goes back to working at her clit, wrapping his lips around it once more, flicking his tongue over it in a steady rhythm.

She lets out something akin to a sob, throwing her head back. “Don’t stop _, please_ , don’t stop.” And then she’s coming, her hips rocking up toward his face, like she can’t get enough of the feel of him and what he’s doing to her. Then it’s like she comes apart at the seams. Her body starts to tremble and her legs become vice-like around him, keeping him from achieving his own orgasm. But that’s okay, he thinks as he watches her, because he finally did something right for her, and that makes it all worth it.

Little aftershocks shoot through her when it’s finally over, when she starts to breathe again. Her hands fall from his head, like all of the energy she has before has drained out of her. He gives her one last long lick, wanting to taste her just one more time, and she shudders, pulling just a little away. He lets out a small huff of a laugh and moves up to press a kiss to her stomach.

Malia is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but when she looks down at Stiles with a lazy grin on her face, her eyes twinkling, and her skin flushed from the orgasm  _he_ gave her, he thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scerek + kiss along the hips + forecful kiss
> 
> Rated T

Scott’s lips are soft, trailing down over Derek’s smooth skin. Scott kisses his way down over Derek’s torso, pressing warm skin to warm skin, stopping sometimes just to breathe in the other man. Derek sighs when Scott makes his way further down, his lips trailing down the center of Derek’s body, stopping to kiss at his navel, to run his nose along Derek’s happy trail. It tickles a little, but Derek just pets at Scott’s back.

Derek doesn’t expect for Scott to move off the path he’s been taking down to Derek’s pants, but when he feels Scott’s lips move to the side to pepper feather-light presses of his mouth to his lips, he shivers. Scott moves his hand up to stroke over Derek’s opposite hip, smoothing circles with his thumb into his skin. He draws in a breath when he feels Scott’s tongue licks a warm line up over the cut of his hip bone.

Scott makes to move to the other side, but Derek can’t take any more teasing. Derek reaches his hand up to grip at the back of Scott’s neck, pulling him up the length of Derek’s body and down toward him. Scott comes willingly, the corners of his mouth lifted like he knows just what he does to Derek. Derek narrows his eyes and closes the distance between them, wrapping both arms around Scott so that he can flip them, so that Scott is on his back and Derek is straddling him. Scott looks up at Derek, all-out smirking now, and Derek wants nothing more than to kiss that look right off his smug face.

So he does. Derek bends down and captures Scott’s lip in a hard kiss, taking back some of the control he lost to Scott’s earlier ministrations. He kisses Scott roughly, running his hands up into the other man’s hair, pulling just a little as he nips and sucks at Scott’s lips until his own start to feel a little bruised.

When Derek finally pulls back, Scott’s lips are swollen and his face is flushed. He looks wrecked and it makes something settle in Derek’s chest to know that he did that. He imagines this must be like for Scott when he can garner the same reaction from Derek.

Scott lifts a hand to settle on Derek’s waist, stroking his thumb over Derek’s hipbone. He licks his lips and Derek’s eyes follow the movement. “So, hips, huh?”

Derek narrows his eyes at Scott before he bends back down, kissing Scott again, but more gently this time. “Shut up, Scott.”

Scott smiles against Derek’s lips.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sciles + jawline kisses
> 
> Rated T

The hug is a little desperate when their arms wrap around each other, like both of them are afraid that if they let go, the other will somehow be taken from them. Scott buries his nose into Stiles’ neck, breathing in the scent of him—of Stiles and home and safety. Scott runs a hand up and down Stiles’ back and the other man sighs a little, wrapping his arms a little tighter around him. He lets out a long, shuddering breath—like he’s been holding it the whole time the pack was fighting, and now that it’s over, he feels lighter, like things will finally be okay for a little while. Stiles must feel it, too, because one minute they are hugging like both of them want to sink into the other’s skin, and the next, their mouths are on each other’s.

The kiss lacks all of the desperation that their hug had, but Stiles’ mouth is soft and warm on Scott’s, and the gentleness of the kiss makes Scott feel momentarily breathless. They deepen the kiss slowly, neither of them wanting to take things too fast, keeping the movements of their mouths gentle. Eventually, Stiles pulls back to breathe, his chest rising and falling a bit with the effort, and Scott moves his lips down to trail over Stiles’ jaw.

He presses soft, open-mouthed kisses to the shape of it, kissing at the spot just under Stiles’ ear before he moves back to follow the curve of Stiles’ jaw. Stiles tilts his head back, allowing Scott more access. Scott lets out a shaky breath and scrapes his teeth gently over Stiles’ skin, before he soothes it with his tongue. Stiles’ hands dig into where they are resting on Scott’s shoulders and Scott knows that Stiles likes it.

Stiles lets his head fall back the rest of the way and he runs a hand up into Scott’s hair, cupping the back of his head. Scott pulls back a little, just to see the thick column of Stiles’ throat, to watch as his Adam’s apple bobs on a hard swallow. Scott brings his lips back, pressing one last soft kiss to the underside of Stiles’ jaw, before he moves to once again wrap his arms around Stiles in a hug.

Stiles presses a gentle kiss to the side of Scott’s neck and Scott thinks that maybe, for the first time in a long time, things are finally looking up.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malia x Lydia - underwater kiss
> 
> Rated T

Lydia doesn’t know why she thought hosting a pool party for the pack would be a good idea. Maybe it was because she was a little lonely in the big house all alone since she’d been spending more and more time around the other teens. Maybe it was because she just wanted to have some fun, a day free from danger and devastation. Maybe she just wanted some semblance of the normal life she used to have. Either way, she wanted a pool party.

Of course, things never can be that easy. Stiles sneaks some of her parents booze from the bar in their basement and almost manages to drown himself, but not before deciding it would be a wonderful idea to see if kitsunes can get drunk. Apparently they can, if Kira getting sick and stumbling into the pool house to find the bathroom is any indication.

Scott manages to drag Stiles out of the pool and into the pool house, telling Lydia that he’s going to sober them up a little before he takes them home. Stiles mumbles something that sounds a lot like “Sorry I ruined your party” before they disappear into the pool house, leaving Lydia and Malia alone in the pool.

The silence is a little awkward. Lydia and Malia are just on the verge of becoming friends, neither of them sure how to bridge the gap between them. They are on opposite ends of the pool, Malia looking down and splashing a little bit at the water. She looks a little like a kid testing the water, even though she’s already in to the waist. Lydia’s been watching her since she got in the pool and Malia never once put her head under the water.

Now that she really thinks about it, though, watching the way Malia acts around water, Lydia wonders if it’s the first time since Malia turned back to human that she’s gone swimming. Lydia swims over to the shallow end, coming out of the water with a splash that gets the other girls attention.

“So,” Lydia starts, “do coyotes know how to swim?”

Malia gives her a look like she’s a little offended at the question. “Of course we do. If survival depends on crossing a river, we cross the river.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “A doggy paddle is a little different than a breaststroke.”

Malia looks away from her, eyes going back to the water. “Okay, so I can’t swim. Not really. What gave it away?”

Lydia moves closer and brings a hand up to push Malia’s hair back over her shoulder. “You haven’t even gotten your hair wet. Are you afraid that if you put your head too close to the water, you’ll drown?”

Lydia doesn’t ask the question in a condescending way. When Malia first become a part of the pack, Lydia never understood why Stiles and Scott would phrase questions in ways that appealed to her inner coyote, but she’s come a long way in understanding a little about how Malia ticked and how her thought process went. It had been an interesting learning process, but Lydia’s really been trying to connect with Malia.

Malia shrugs a little, looking back up at Lydia. “Maybe? Is that a stupid thing to be afraid of?”

The question is genuine, like she really values Lydia’s opinion on what does or doesn’t qualify as a stupid thing to fear. Lydia gives her a small smile and moves her hands so they are each settled on one of Malia’s shoulders. “No, it’s not stupid. But I promise, I won’t let you drown in four feet of water in my backyard.” Malia quirks her lips a little at that. “Okay, just follow my lead. I’m going to go under the water and then come back up. Then I want you to do the same. Sound good?”

Malia nods and Lydia takes a breath, holding it as she goes down into the water. She only stays down for a second before she comes back up.

The other girl lets out a breath at seeing Lydia alive and well. She takes a deep breath before surprising Lydia by reaching out for her hand as she goes down into the water. She feels Malia’s hand on her tighten a little before she comes out of the water with a gasp. She blinks chlorinated water from her eyes for a moment, but then she’s letting out a laugh and throwing her arms around Lydia, knocking them both off balance. Lydia lets out a laugh of her own, the excitement of the other girl like something tangible and infectious.

“Want to try it again? This time, try to stay under a little longer.”

Malia nods and separates herself from Lydia, then both girls are taking deep breaths and going back under the water together.

Lydia has had years of practice to know just how long she can stay underwater before she needs air, so she opens her eyes, feeling the slight burn of the chlorine, but she ignores it in favor of looking at the other girl. Malia’s hair is floating up round her and Lydia’s surprised to see her eyes open as well. She wonders for a moment if the werecoyote healing abilities make the chlorine less irritating to her eyes, but then Malia smiles at her under the water, little bubbles of air escaping her lips. Lydia wants to tell her to not let all the air out of her mouth, but she knows the sounds would be garbled. Instead, she just smiles back, swimming a little closer to her.

Malia reaches out toward Lydia and wraps her arm around Lydia’s waist, pulling her even closer, in some semblance of a hug, so that their legs bend and twist together. Lydia wraps an arm around the back of Malia’s neck, bringing her forehead to settle against the other girl’s.

Progress, Lydia thinks. She wonders if this means they are officially friends now, if it means something that Malia trusts her enough to let Lydia help her get over one of her fears. Lydia pulls back a little to look into Malia’s eyes, to watch her face. Malia’s looking at her, blinking slowly, and Lydia feels the hand on her back trail up, over the string of her bikini top, to settle over the nape of her neck.

Lydia’s not expecting it when Malia moves closer, angling her head, and she presses her lips to Lydia’s. It’s a gentle pressure, not at all how she would expect Malia to kiss. Her lips are soft, but insistent, and when she tries to deepen the kiss, Lydia kisses her back.

She doesn’t know how long they stay down there like that, both of their hands reaching, touching, caressing at each other’s skin. Their lips move together, tongues crashing together like waves, until Lydia’s lungs are burning from lack of oxygen and she starts to feel a little light headed. She wraps her arms around Malia’s waist and gets her feet back under her, using the leverage to push both of them back up toward the surface.

Lydia gasps for air, still holding onto Malia. “Wow,” she says, when she can finally breath normally again.

Malia runs a hand up and down over Lydia’s back. “Was that a good ‘wow’ or bad ‘wow’?”

Lydia makes a sound in her throat before she loosens her grip on the other girl to pull back a little so she can look at her. “Jury’s out on that one. I think you’ve successfully managed to be my first kiss that could potentially end in suffocation.”

Malia stills for a moment before her face lights up and a wide grin splits over her face. “Wait, wait, Lydia, did my kiss take your breath away?”

Lydia gives the other girl an unimpressed look. “Really? That’s what you’re going to go with? You’ve been spending way too much time with Stiles.”

Malia’s only response it to splash water at Lydia until both of them are laughing once again.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scerek post ep 4x02 117
> 
> Rated G

It’s later, after Derek’s won the fight against the berserkers, after Scott’s driven Derek back to his loft, when Scott’s helping him into his loft, that he notices it.

Derek’s different. Quieter. Softer somehow. He’s got an arm around Scott’s shoulder and is leaning his weight on him, pressing the sides of their bodies together. There’s none of the lingering tension in his muscles that Derek usually carries around with him. Derek’s skin is warm to the touch and Scott feels a little cold when he helps Derek onto his couch.

Scott turns away, ready to leave, unsure if he’s welcome here or if Derek needs some time alone to sort out everything that just happened. Scott’s not even sure himself what just happened, so he can’t imagine what Derek must be feeling. There are a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue that he wants to ask, but Derek’s not in a state to answer him.

He’s surprised when he feels Derek’s warm fingers wrap round the skin of his wrist. “Don’t leave.” Derek’s voice is quiet, lacking all of the biting edge that Scott’s grown accustomed to over the year. Derek’s fingers tighten just a little and Scott allows himself to be pulled back over to the couch, until he’s sitting on the cushion next to Derek.

There’s a part of Scott that thinks it should be weird when Derek doesn’t remove his fingers, but instead slides his hand down until their palms are pressed together and Scott’s wrapping his own hand around Derek’s slightly larger one—but it’s not. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to sit there with Derek’s hand in his, both of them a little lost in their own thoughts, but neither of them really wanting to be alone. Scott shifts until the sides of their bodies are touching again, until he can feel more of Derek’s warmth.

Derek leans into the touch, almost like he wants to just curl into Scott. Scott squeezes Derek’s hand a little—just a reminder to the other that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere, not until Derek wants him too.

“Derek,” Scott starts, his words quiet in the large space, looking down at their joined hands as he slowly strokes his thumb over the smooth skin at the back of Derek’s hand, “if you hadn’t been there tonight, I don’t know what would have happened.”

The other man shifts, tensing beside him—and that’s not what Scott wanted, that’s the opposite of what Scott wanted—so Scott looks up at him, twisting a little so he’s perpendicular on the couch to Derek, then leans in closer. “I’m trying to say thank you. You saved our lives. You protected the pack.” Derek’s looking at him now, his mouth slightly agape like that’s the farthest thing from what he expected Scott to say. His eyes are intense, boring into Scott’s, and that’s when Scott sees it.

Derek looks overwhelmed, confused, scared; he looks like he’s on the verge of some kind of breakdown. It makes Scott’s heart hurt to see him this way, especially after everything he’s been through. Scott reaches out with his other hand, covering the nape of Derek’s neck before the gently pulls him a little closer, until their heads are resting together at their temples. “Hey,” Scott murmurs softy, “hey, Derek, it’s okay. You’re okay now. I promise.” Scott massages his fingers a little into the back of Derek’s neck until the other man slowly starts to relax.

Derek lets out a shaky sigh that ghosts across Scott’s cheek. “Sorry.”

Scott pulls back a little and finally untwines his hand from Derek’s, lifting it up to settle on Derek’s shoulder. He frowns a little, “Derek, trust me when I say you have nothing to be sorry about.”

He’s looking back at Scott again, his eyes sad. “I do trust you. You—you came looking for me. You could’ve just…left me with her, but you saved me instead.” Derek’s eyebrows draw together and he reaches around to settle a hand over the one Scott has on the back of his neck, before he brings it around, pressing Scott’s palm to the side of his neck, tilting his head into the touch.

Scott doesn’t even react when Derek moves closer, when the tips of their noses brush together, when Scott feels Derek’s warm breath on his face—and then Derek is pressing his mouth to Scott’s.

The kiss is a soft press of a thing, feather light, and over before Scott can so much as move. Derek pulls back, looking at Scott with the same intensity as before, but it’s different now, more calculated, like he’s measuring how Scott will react. Scott just stares at him and swallows hard, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move away

Derek moves back, slower this time, watching Scott, until there’s barely any space between their faces. This time, the kiss is a little more solid. Derek’s lips are warm, the drag of stubble on Scott’s face a little rough, and then Derek tilts his head, his tongue at the seam of Scott’s lips, and Scott lets him in.

The kiss only lasts long enough to leave them both gasping and a little breathless when they pull away from each other. Derek’s grasping at Scott’s shirt and Scott’s fingers are twined in Derek’s hair. They rest their foreheads together for a long moment, each of them trying not to get caught looking at the other, until Derek sighs and moves so that his arms are around Scott’s middle and his head is pressed into the crook of Scott’s neck. Scott smiles, a little, private thing, as he runs a hand up and down Derek’s back in long soothing strokes.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Scott whispers into the other man’s hair, pressing a light kiss to the side of his head.

Derek hums and Scott feels the vibrations of it against his skin. Derek shifts a little closer, rubbing his nose along Scott’s neck, like he’s inhaling the scent of him. “Me too. Glad you brought me back.”

Scott’s hand stills. “Wait—what? What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”

The other man lifts his head up and looks into Scott’s eyes. “But you did,” Derek starts, moving a hand to trail his fingers lightly over the side of Scott’s face. “I was thinking about you, about how I needed to protect you, when I changed back.”

A wide smile spreads across Scott’s face. “Really?”

Derek nods before he drops his head back down to the crook of Scott’s neck, his arms wrapping around Scott once again. It’s the easiest thing in the world for Scott to stay like that well into the night, just holding him.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://clawstoagunfight.tumblr.com/)!


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